Destiel One Shots
by Air1997
Summary: A composition of Destiel one shots. A place of drabbles for my theories, headcanons, what have you, of Destiel.
1. Tuesday

Cas died Tuesday.

It was a beautiful, late spring day. The flowers were bright and giving off strong scents, bees buzzing from one to the next. Cas liked the bees…

Dean didn't understand. Shouldn't the day have been ugly, sad? Rain and thunder, mud and golf ball sized hail. Shouldn't the world be mourning the loss of the angel who regretted? The angel who hurt and was hurt? The angel, the man, who loved?

Instead the day was filled with laughter, vibrant colors and an irrational happiness in the air. It almost hurt to live that day.

It took so much for Dean to hold it together; he knew Castiel wasn't coming back again. There would be no more resurrections for Cas because a guy like Dean could only get so many favors, so many stitched up hearts.

Did Cas deserve to die, to be stabbed by his own weapon? No, of course not. Castiel made many mistakes, so many mistakes. But everyone made them, everyone lost themselves for awhile. Of course not everyone became _God_ for awhile, but everyone has surely done something they regret.

This little fact made it all so much worse for Dean. Cas did bad things, but people have done worse than he, even if that's hard to believe. Why couldn't someone else take Cas's place? Why couldn't Cas just live through the rest of Dean's life, then there wouldn't be hurt. Dean wouldn't have to suffer like this.

But Cas pulling through isn't part of the ultimate plan, the plan that Dean had screwed up royally. Life is a bitch that just keeps making swings at you.

Today, a week later, is Cas's funeral. It's small, only Dean and Sam, who had gone to give Dean a moment, to lay Cas to rest. He's been buried in an empty, grassy, butterfly infested field. A simple wooden cross marks the grave, nothing but the word _Castiel_ etched into the wood.

Cas didn't get the traditional hunter burial, even if it was what he deserved. Maybe a part of Dean still hoped Cas would live, be able to teleport (or whatever it was that angels did) out of the dirt. The part was small, but strong. It was what kept Dean going on because there was nothing else left to do that for him.

To Dean, this was worse than losing Cas to Purgatory, to the Leviathans. It was because Dean watched Cas die, felt the last breath leave his lungs, watched his oceanic eyes die, just a little. It was so much more personal than having a Levi say he was gone or watching him let go in Purgatory.

Dean knelt down by the cross, wanting to say something, anything, to the man he loved so much. He wanted closure, but no amount of words would give him that. No amount of pain or suffering could get Dean to move on, to forget. This was the man Dean loved after all, what could anything in the world possibly do to ease his pain?

"This feels so wrong for me to say because you're not here, you know? You should be alive to hear this but saying it now is better than never, am I right?" Dean asked, a sad smile making way onto his features. Little tears slid down his face and into the corners of his mouth, but he wiped them away.

"I love you, Cas. I'll see you again, I promise." Dean said after a moment in which he gathered his bearing.

He got up from the ground, not bothering to wipe his hands on his jeans. He stared down at the grave for a moment before turning around, ready to leave this damn town.

What he expected to see when he got up was the Impala parked not too far away, Sam in the driver's seat. He expected to hear music emanating from the car, something to wipe away the silence. But all he heard was the silence and what he saw was Sam in the Impala and Cas, standing not too far away from Dean.

He looked healthy, the poster child for cleanliness. His face was set in a smile, small but filled more emotion that anything else. His hands were held behind his back, his eyes shining with the light they lost.

"Hello, Dean." He said at last.


	2. Memory Loss

Castiel had forgotten who he was. He didn't remember anything, not the attack, not his angelic power, not the love he fought so hard to protect. All he knew was the English language and how to put pen to paper. Everything else seemed to have been turned to ash and sent away in the wind.

It bothered him, not knowing. He was at ease, though. He knew it wasn't his fault and he couldn't control it. He'd just have to let time do its work, no matter how long that would take.

When he first saw Dean, something went off in his chest, something he didn't recognize. There was something there, something begging to be let out. He saw Dean's eyes, saw the complete faith and love there was in them. He knew he had the feeling reflected in his own eyes, although he wasn't sure why.

Dean ran to him, hugged him tight, nearly suffocating Castiel. Dean then pulled away, thanking every divine being that Castiel was alive.

But then Castiel set the canon off.

"I don't remember you." He had said.

Dean's face broke, the smile wavering.

"Nice one, Cas. Now let's get back to the motel, eh?" Dean asked. There was something in his eyes, Castiel identified it as fear.

"I'm not lying; I have no memory of you." Castiel said again, refusing to move from his spot on the oil stained cement.

Dean's face broke, his smile flipped and the light that shone so bright in his eyes died. His eyes seemed so dead, broken. It was like flipping the light switch off.

"You're saying you don't remember me, Cas? What do you remember?" Dean asked, his voice breaking.

"There is nothing I remember. Who are you? Who am I?" Castiel asked, tilting his head to the side.

"I'm Dean and you're Cas. Castiel. The best thing to-" Dean started, but broke off.

"Come on, let's go back to the motel." He said at last. Castiel obeyed, having no other options.

The ride to the motel was quiet, no one, not even Sam, spoke a word. The silence seemed to bother Sam and Dean, but to Castiel it was calming, easy. He was grateful for it, he was able to think about his situation for a short amount of time.

When they finally got back, Sam went in ahead of them, leaving Castiel and Dean to linger outside. Dean wanted to say something but he couldn't seem to get the words out. He gave Castiel a sorrowful look then went inside the motel room.

"Tell me who I am, you both know." Castiel demanded once he got inside. He saw Dean tense up and Sam seemed be dragged down by his height, his shoulders loosening and his back hunched slightly over.

"You may not like it. As far as you know you're human." Dean replied, taking a seat by the window.

"It doesn't matter if I like who I am. It's me and I can't change that." Castiel answered, sitting down on the edge of the bed closest to Dean.

"Okay, but tell me, what do you believe? Your religion, the paranormal. What do you believe?" Dean asked, leaning forward in his seat, his dead eyes set into Castiel's.

"Anything is possible. There are infinite possibilities in this world, there is no evidence that something is or isn't real. So there may be a God, there may not be but that doesn't stop me from believing." Castiel answered after a moment of thought.

"What about angels?" Sam asked from the other bed. He was watching over the conversation between the two.

"I believe the same."

"What if I said you were an angel?" Dean asked, hoping that maybe something in Castiel would click at that word.

"It's a little more difficult to process, but who says I can't be an angel?" Castiel answered, wondering what these two men were getting at.

"Well you are, Cas. You are Castiel, an angel of the Lord." Dean said, his voice taking on a false 'high and mighty' tone in the next sentence.

"Who are you then?" Castiel asked next, taking their word as truth.

"I'm Dean Winchester, and that's my brother, Sam. We're hunters, people who hunt down creatures that go bump in the night." Dean explained with an edge of pride to his voice.

"Do you hunt angels? Is that why you have me? Are you going to kill me?" Castiel asked, suddenly worried about his current situation. His eyes started roaming the room for possible exits.

"What? No, no we don't hunt angels. They're hard little suckers to gank, and besides you'd need one of their shiny little swords to do em' in." Dean answered, smiling a little about at Castiel's momentary innocence.

"Then what am I doing with you two?" Castiel asked, trying to get the whole story from these two, but it was like they wanted nothing more than to keep it from him.

"You're our honorary angel. You kind of divorced heaven, in a way of saying. You did some things, things you're not proud of, so you're here with us." Sam answered.

"How long have I known you both?" Castiel asked, looking from one brother to the other.

"A few years." Dean answered vaguely.

"When I look at you there's something there but I can't quite name it. Do you know what I'm talking about?" Castiel asked Dean, who seemed to gain interest in a loose thread in his shirt.

"I…Yeah, I know what you're talking about." Dean replied after a moment. He's trying to hide something.

"Then what is it?" Castiel asked, his patience slipping.

"Dean, just tell him. He deserves the truth. I'll just wait outside." Sam said, and before Dean could do anything to stop him, went to wait outside.

"What's going on? I need answers, Dean." Castiel said, his voice wavering. His patience was wearing thinner and thinner with every second Dean stayed silent.

"We're sort of a…thing." Dean answered, his line of vision pointed at the floor.

"A thing? What does that mean?"

"A couple." Dean grit out."

"Me and you?" Castiel asked, surprised.

"Yeah, there anything wrong with that?" Dean asked, his voice a cross of hurt and anger.

"No, I feel as if I have no definite sexual preference it just seems as if I thought I shouldn't be in love, like it isn't allowed." Castiel clarified.

"Oh, well to be honest I'm not totally sure if it is allowed with your people but since when have either of us followed the rules?" Dean asked with a laugh, his eyes gaining some definition, life.

"I don't know." Castiel replied.

XxXxXxX

As time went on Dean did his best to jog Castiel's memory, brining up a story or some key words, but none of it jogged Castiel's memory.

Dean tried to stay up as long as possible with Castiel at night, telling him stories and occasionally how he felt, but that was only when he was beginning to go delirious with sleep deprivation. Although Castiel's memory didn't seem to want to come back, he knew how he felt about Dean from the first moment he saw his face.

This is when Castiel knew that true love, no matter its strength, could transcend everything, even a brain injury.


	3. The Great Beyond

Castiel and Sam stood in a barren field; one like the one Dean had been originally put to rest all that time ago. What lay under the dirt was the burnt remains of what was once Dean Winchester, who'd been slain on the job. His grave was marked by a cross, bearing no sign of the person who lay below it. No names, no dates.

Both Castiel and Sam knew this day would come, where they'd have to say goodbye but neither of them expected it to be this soon. Neither of them realized Dean could so easily been taken, either.

They stood by his grave for awhile, saying goodbye until the sun began to set and wash this side of the world in darkness. Castiel asked Sam for a few moments alone before he returned to the Impala, which Sam let him have.

"So, I'm dead now?" Dean asked from beside Castiel. He had Tessa next to him, seemingly relieved that she got to finally reap Dean Winchester. It had been a goal of hers.

"Yes, you are. You should leave now before it's too late." Castiel said, waiting patiently for Dean to go.

He could have brought Dean back but sometimes dying and coming back is just too much for one soul to carry. Besides, Dean asked Castiel to leave him dead. He still lived, or not, by his philosophy, 'What is dead should stay dead'.

"I know, I already told Tess here that I'd come without a fight but I wanted to see you first." Dean replied. Tessa, sensing he wanted time alone with Castiel, stepped away from the two and gave them a moment.

"What is there to say? I've already said my goodbyes to you." Castiel said. Seeing Dean like this was becoming a burden on him. If he couldn't see Dean as a living, breathing man why should he see him like this?

"I wanted to ask if you'd be my escort to Heaven. That way me and Tessa are both happy. She reaps me, we both know she's been aching to get her hands on me, and I get to spend an afterlife with you and everyone I've lost." Dean replies as he stares down at his grave.

"Before I begin to answer what you've just asked of me, how are you here? We've salted and burned your bones, Dean." Castiel asks, confused. His brow crease as he thinks of any of the things Dean left behind that his soul could be attached to.

"My baby, that's what I'm attached to." Dean answers, smiling. That car was home to Dean, it held some of the most precious memories he's ever had. Of course it'd be the thing to carry on his soul.

"Thank you for clarifying that. So you want me to go to heaven with you?" Castiel asked, the offer sounding seemingly pleasant to him.

"Yeah, you and me reliving my greatest hits or sitting in the Roadhouse with Ash. Drinking with Bobby, talking to Jo and Ellen again. We can spend eternity doing that instead of me waiting an eternity for you." Dean replied, growing a little irritated at the sappy, hallmark card, moment.

"Heaven seems like a terrible idea for me, Dean. The angels still aren't happy with me, I don't know what they would do or what I would try to do once I returned." Castiel says. For the first in a very long time, he was truly afraid.

"We got Ash on our side, Cas. He can travel all through heaven, he can keep angels away. He'll keep you away from those dick bags. Besides, couldn't you just burn those weird ass markings into your own ribcage?" Dean asked.

"N- I don't know. I've never tried it before, I don't think anyone has." Castiel replied. He was now a little curious.

What if he could burn Enochian symbols into himself? Was it actually possible to do so? It may not be, but for Dean Castiel would do anything. Dean's needs always went before his own.

"Then try. We can leave, Sam has Amelia and that dog, he'll be better off without us. He can move on, leave our life like he's been trying do all along." Dean pointed out, knowing he was getting closer and closer to Castiel giving in.

"I suppose it's worth a try. Even if engraving the markings into my own person doesn't work, I'll still stay with you. But I think it wise to save the marking till we believe failure is imminent." Castiel decides.

"Come on Tess, I've reeled him in!" Dean called to the reaper, who had been eavesdropping on their conversation, patiently waiting for the time to leave.

"Let me say a proper goodbye to Sam first. I think it may be best if I check in on him every now and then." Castiel informed Dean as he made his way to the Impala.

He tapped on the driver side window once, grabbing Sam's attention.

"Hey, Cas. You ready to go?" Sam asked as he started up the car.

"No, there are some…urgent matters in heaven I must attend to. You will not see me for awhile, but I will come back. You should move on, Sam. Not from me or Dean but from this life. Live it the way you've always wanted to." Castiel said, turning away from the blank minded Sam.

"That's it? What's going on?" Sam asked, fumbling with the door's lock.

"I'm sorry, Sam. It's best for me not to explain. I'm still trying to understand it myself." Cas explained.

Sam looked torn. Castiel was practically his brother, the only family he had left, and he was leaving now too?

"I'll return periodically to check on you. I'll be back and maybe then will I explain why I must leave."

"Damn it, Cas. Fine, but if you see Dean up there tell him I said hi, will you?" Sam asked, who was more torn up about the situation that he said or showed. He was holding himself together, but just barely.

"I will. See you soon, Sam." Castiel said before returning to Dean and Tessa.

"Yeah, I guess I'll see you soon." Sam replied. He got back into the Impala, at a loss for words. He was angry, hurt, but deep down he knew the reason Castiel was leaving. If Sam had the chance, he'd go chasing after someone he loved into the great beyond too. It was like the Winchester family curse.

Sam pulled away, the tires kicking up dust as he raced down the road. With that insignificant gesture you could nearly feel all the anger and pain Sam was going through. But Sam was a big boy; he'd deal with his losses in his own way and eventually heal, but that thought didn't make Castiel feel any better.

"We're ready." Dean said to Tessa, taking charge.

"I've never brought an angel along with me before." Tessa mused, a little smile dancing on her face.

"I've been to heaven before. I won't be…lost in transit." Castiel said. Modern phrases were still a little hard for him to understand or even know how to use properly.

Dean wrapped his hand around Castiel's in an _it'll all be alright_ sort of gesture. Dean smiled at the angel, feeling just as scared as Castiel was. Would heaven be different than last time? Would his heaven change at all? Would Castiel be able to follow him through his heaven? These things didn't matter because for love, the both of them would take any risks.

Tessa walked over to the two and took Dean's free hand, walking with them to an eerie, brilliant light. It seemed to radiate in all sorts of positivity. Love, happiness, these were the largest components in the lights composition.

It engulfed Dean and Castiel, taking the both of them and leaving Tessa behind to reap yet another soul.

Soon, all too soon, the lights warmth and glow disappeared, leaving Dean disoriented. Beneath his feet he felt rough and sturdy ground, like wood. He took a quick look around and saw the Roadhouse, bathed in its former glory.

At the bar sat Bobby, laughing and drinking with Ellen. Jo was striking up conversation with Ash, who was clacking away on a computer. Pamela sat by Bobby, taking shots of her own with Annie, and even John Winchester was there, who was leaning on a far wall talking up a storm with a lovely Mary Winchester.

"How… What? It was supposed to be my greatest hits! I thought it might be a different this time around but not this." Dean said, at a loss for words. His head was reeling, overcome with a swirl of different emotions. Confusion, happiness, awe. It was all a rollercoaster in his head.

"It's _supposed_ to be like that, comrade. But with a few simple algorithms I was able to attract anyone and everyone who every came in contact with the Roadhouse and its people, where it felt like family to them. That's why your mamas here. You, Sam and your daddio were her family so therefore we're all her family. I just want to know why the hell angel boy's here." Ash explained, pushing his computer away.

"I'm his escort. How do you know I'm an angel?" Castiel asked. He had never met this strange, wild haired man before.

"Talk of the town, you'd say. Bobby and Ellen told me about ya." Ash explained, smiling from Dean to Castiel. "Yeah, that's right. I know what's going on between the two of you." He added with a smile and turned back to his computer.

"Great, Bobby's mouth is just as big in death." Dean whined. "But it doesn't matter. I'm here with you and that's all that'll ever matter. This is heaven, baby. Let's make use of it and do some catching up." Dean said, implying a few different things with his choice of phrase.

This may not have been the heaven Castiel was expecting, the one with angels looking out for him, one where he'd go mad with shame. This was one unique and beautiful; it belonged to the hunter community. It was home.


	4. The First Time

Dean was confused. In fact what he was feeling was beyond confusion, beyond seeing blurred lines between _this _and _that_. It was more like looking at everything in the world through beer goggles coated with a thick layer of foam. It was tedious and it kind of hurt.

To be honest, Dean was beginning to feel things he believed he shouldn't be feeling. Like, have feelings for another person, the other person in this situation being a man. Castiel.

Dean had never strictly labeled himself as being _straight_ per se, but he had never been with another man in any way shape or form, except the terms in family. So feeling something like this felt wrong but so strangely right, like wrecking the Impala and building her from the ground up. It was a nice, warm feeling but it felt strange to feel that way, to be _happy_ you have to rebuild your car, again.

But with Castiel Dean was happy. Was being happy wrong now? True, whenever he had reached a new level of happiness the world bitch slapped him in the face. But Castiel wasn't new, he's the same Cas he had always been, except a little more human.

Dean just didn't have simple, sawdust feelings for Cas, though. He was head over heels, shot across the moon, greater than Heaven or Hell in love with Castiel, although he'd never admit it out loud.

What he wanted to know was should he keep these feelings bottled up inside him, hide them in the dark, or let Cas decide everything for him? Talk to Cas, see if he returns the feelings or if it's all just a nice sentiment to the angel.

Sometimes Dean wished he couldn't feel anything at all.

Finally, after what seemed like endless hours of pure thought, which was really just an hour or two in a bar, Dean worked up the confidence to talk to Castiel. Or it was more like he exercised his ego rather than gaining more confidence. If he gained more of either the world may not be able to handle it.

"Sam, go get me a pie. You forgot, again, so make up for it." Dean demanded of his brother as he walked into the blue motel room.

Sam was sitting by the window, doing something on his computer. He looked up when Dean called his name and rolled his eyes when he was given his little task.

"You need help, Dean." He remarked as he grabbed his coat off the back of the chair.

"With what?" Dean asked, only half paying attention.

"With your whole pie thing. It's been driving me nuts." Sam replied.

"Well put on you big girl panties and get the hell over it." Dean shot back, frustrated that Sam hadn't left yet.

"Whatever." Sam said, leaving Dean and Castiel in the motel room.

Castiel was reading the bible, something all motel rooms kept handy. He was probably looking for every detail it had wrong, which seemed to be a minor deal to Cas. Maybe he just needed a way to pass the time.

"Whatchya got there?" Dean asked, taking a seat next to Cas on the uncomfortable bed.

"The bible." Castiel replied, keeping his train of sight on the book's pages.

"That's nice. Why don't you give it a rest for a minute? I need to talk to you." Dean suggests, taking the beaten book from the angel's rigid hands and placing it behind him, on one of the pillows.

"Something seems to be troubling you. What can I do to help?" Castiel asked, suddenly in tune to Dean's mood. He sensed Dean's nerves, the discomfort of spilling out his feelings.

"Nothing's _wrong_, yet, at least." Dean replied, rubbing the back of his neck. He took a quick breath, trying to calm himself down.

_This was simple. Just get it out. Who cares if he rejects me, or doesn't know what I even friggin' mean?_ Dean thought.

"Dean? Are you feeling well?" Castiel asked, his concern clear in his ocean blue eyes.

"No. Yeah, I'm fine." Dean replied, waving off Castiel's offers of help.

"Then tell me what's going on. I know something's been troubling you." Castiel said, giving Dean a weak smile of reassurance.

"I love you, that's what." Dean blurted out, the words tumbling over themselves. He laughs to himself, part in embarrassment and part in the alien feel his own words had.

"I love you too, Dean. You know that. I do anything and everything I can for you." Castiel says, giving Dean a broader smile.

"That's not how I mean it. I don't love you like I love Sam or Bobby. Hell, I don't even love you like I loved Lisa. I guess I love you more than that." Dean confessed, surprised at the raw truth.

Castiel sat there for a moment, thinking over Dean's words.

"Why are you telling me this?" Castiel asked, sounding frustrated with Dean. His eyes were glistening and his jaw was set in a hard line.

"One because you deserve to know and two because it's pretty much all your choice where this goes next. If you want to run, stay friends or what. It can't be all my decision, that's impossible." Dean explained.

"I don't know, Dean. There's something in me that I can't explain. This thing seems to flare up when you're around me. It seems to want me to do something, say something. I don't know, Dean. I don't know how such _human_ emotions like this work." Castiel explain, irritated that he doesn't have the answer to something as simple as how he feels.

"Tell me about this thing." Dean says, afraid to looks at Castiel.

"It's insistent. It's always there, no matter what but when you're around it's more insistent. I get this strange feeling in the pit of my stomach, almost like I'd imagine hunger would feel but it isn't hunger. It's something better. And in my chest I feel so…strange, a nice strange but still strange." Castiel explained, to the best of his ability.

"I'd call that love, Castiel." Dean said and wrapped his arm around Castiel's shoulder, pulling the angel closer. He kissed the top of his head and asked him, "How does this make you feel?"

"It eases the feeling, makes it so much better. I feel better with you." Castiel explained, finding the hand Dean had on his shoulder and squeezed it.

A/N*- I would like to ask you guys for a prompt! I'm running low on ideas so all and any prompts would help! Thanks a bunch!


	5. Heaven

"How does this feel to you?" Castiel asked Dean.

They were laying down on the hood of the Impala, the stars being their only source of light. They were parked in a park, trying to get away from life for a day. So far, it was nice.

"How does what feel?" Dean asked after taking a drink of his beer. He quickly looked at Cas and then back at the stars.

"Us. How does our _relationship_ feel to you? I'm curious." Castiel asked. His hands were folded across his chest, which had an erratic heart pounding its way in it.

"Damn it. Do I have to answer this?" Dean whined.

"No, but I'd like it if you did." Cas replied after a second, deciding his question didn't matter all that much but it'd still be nice to have an answer.

"Fine, I'll bite. Being with you feels… nice. I love you, Cas. You know that. It feels right and good and amazing. It's like eating a cheeseburger for dinner and a nice cherry pie for dessert." Dean explained, rather roughly.

"I'm being compared to food?" Castiel asked, a little bewildered.

"Yes. No, you're better than food, I think. You're definitely better than food." Dean rambled, unable to make up his mind. He let out a short, nervous laugh and went back to thinking.

"The ocean. You're the ocean. Wild, chaotic, fueled with anger but also love. You're beautiful, swift, and strong. You carry me underneath your wings like it's nothing. You're amazing, Cas." Dean finally settled with, happy with the analogy.

"What about you? How does this feel to you?" Dean asked.

"Oh, well if I had to say something I'd say this. If I was human and I had died I believe you're the heaven I'd get." Castiel explained.

"I'm your heaven?" Dean asked, a smile ghosting onto his face.

"Yes, you are. You're everything I believe heaven should be, what I want my heaven to be. Warmth. Love. You're heaven, Dean Winchester." Castiel said, smiling to himself.

Dean felt himself smiling; a feeling so grand and beautiful was swelling into his chest. He leaned toward Cas, taking the angel's hand, squeezing it softly before leaning down to touch Castiel's lips with his own.

Castiel was stunned at first, not expecting the kiss. But he thawed and worked his own lips against Dean's softly. There was no rush, no force. It was just bliss. There was the silence of the night with the music of their hearts swelling in their heads. It was the force driving them together, begging them to take this kiss slow, to make it last as long as eternity.

Dean was smiling against Cas's mouth, his rough lips still pressed to Castiel's softer ones.

The two stayed like this for awhile, relishing in their slow, thoughtful kiss. It was like falling in love all over again. It was beautiful.


	6. Without A Word

I ghosted over you

Just Hovering

Left my mark on your skin

Just Wondering

Can someone fall so deeply

Just by Observing?

Without a word I loved you

Just Thinking

You were a mess

Just newly Healing

You committed terrible acts under pressure

Just Surviving

And there was me

Just Forgiving

Without a word I loved you

Just inside I was Aching

I wanted eternity with you

Just bliss Unending

Do you want the same with me?

Just us Loving?

It would kill me if you said no

Just slowly I'd be Diminishing

But it's your life, your decisions

Just let me leave you Knowing

Without a word I loved you

Just my love never Ending


	7. Not My Thing

Not my thing,

Poetry

But for you, I'd write one after another

Not my thing,

Love notes

But for you, I'd write a million

Not my thing,

Expressing feelings

But for you, I'd spill all my secrets

Not my thing,

Staying committed

But for you, I'd cuff my wrist to yours

Not my thing,

Falling so deep in love

But for you, I'd do it all over again

Not my thing,

Wanting a _real_ happily ever after

But for you, I'd live through a million

Not my thing,

Admitting all this

But for you, I'd do anything


	8. Lay It To Rest

"Where are you going?" Dean shouted at Castiel, who had just slammed the motel room door. The room seemed to shake for a moment, pulsing with Castiel's anger.

Dean stood in the middle of the room for a moment before going after the angel, but when Dean got outside Castiel was nowhere in sight.

"Fucking angels." He muttered under his breath. He felt like ripping his hair out, but instead he walked back into the motel room, where Sam was clacking away on the computer.

Dean sat down on the edge of the motel bed, feelings Sam's epic bitch face melt into his soul.

"You know, things wouldn't be like this if you'd just _talk_ to him for a friggin' minute." Sam remarked, turning his attention back to the computer screen.

"So it's _my_ fault now?" Dean yelled at Sam, frustration willing him to tear his hair out.

"I didn't say that, but it goes both ways. He got angry, so he left but you're the one who wouldn't say a damn thing to him." Sam reminded Dean.

"So if I don't want to talk he gets to act like a bitch?" Dean asked, laughing cruelly at his brother. "That's fair."

"You never want to talk, Dean. He just wanted to help you and you wouldn't let him."

"I don't want help, Sam! I can handle my own problems!" Dean shouted, his face flushing red, his murky eyes sticking out against the bright color.

"No, you can't. No one can handle all their shit by themselves. Someone needs to be there to help them unload the baggage." Sam says, his voice even, calmed.

"Well I can." Dean said after a moment. He rubbed his forehead, taking deep breaths. _In. Out. In. Out._

"All this crap over what? You had to dig up the past, even just a little. You had to bring up the Leviathans, the deal with Crowley, God. You just _had_ to remind him. And when he wanted to talk it over, to finally put the subject to rest, you wouldn't let him. You started acting like a jerk and refused to say a word." Sam shot at Dean, his anger becoming clear on his face. His fists were clenched tightly, his veins slightly popping in his wrist.

"Dean, we all make mistakes. It's in our nature. You just made a mistake. You said it was over and done with, forgiven, but obviously you lied." Sam said, his voice faltering but slowly falling back into its natural rhythm.

"Then what the hell am I supposed to do now?" Dean asked after a few minutes, thinking over Sam's words.

"Put it all to rest." Sam said slowly.

XxXxXxX

Sam offered to leave the motel room, but Dean said it was alright; he'd drive off and call for Castiel to come back somewhere down the road.

He ended going to a park, the side where there were no play sets, no children, no one, just thick, green grass and giant, shady tress. Dean parked the Impala on the curb and sat on the hood, waiting for a moment before calling to Castiel.

Finally, he let out a breath called to him.

"Cas, I'm ready now, I guess. As ready as I can be. Just come back and we can bury this bitch and move on." Dean said to the air, the sky, the sun. He was talking to heaven, a place that reminded him of Cas. The peace and happiness of it when you arrived, the eternal bliss you felt when you were there. It was all Cas.

For a few minutes there was nothing, no sign of Cas anywhere. All that was there was the soft wind and the song of insects, the falling leaves. But no Cas. Finally, he appeared right in front of Dean, looking torn and confused, hurt. He was hurt.

"What is it, Dean?" he asked, his eyes stony and his face set in a rigid expression.

"I'm sorry. That's it, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up." Dean replied, not wanting to say anything else.

"Then why did you?" Cas asked, cocking his head to the side, a gesture all too familiar.

"I just…Nothing. I don't know why." Dean lied.

"Tell me the truth, Dean." Cas demanded, his bright blue eyes wide and bold. They were nearly threatening.

"Cas, it's nothing." Dean replied, refusing to say anything that resembled the truth.

"Dean!" Cas shouted, his anger showing clear as day. His face was red, blotchy in some places. His fist was tightly clenched. You could see the crescent moons in his palm that the fingernails left.

Dean let out a breath, giving up. He relaxed his previously tensed muscles and leaned into the windshield.

"Nightmares. I've been having them a lot recently and they're just bringing everything back. How I felt at the time, the memories, even the physical friggin' pain." Dean explained, ashamed of his weakness.

"Nightmares. I thought you said they were over." Cas pointed out, hating the thought of Dean lying to him.

"They did, but they came back again. I think last night was the last of it, but that's why I brought it all up , why I was acting like a little bitch. I'm sorry, Cas." Dean replied, his anger swelling up inside him. It was all aimed at himself, every last bit of anger, irritation, and frustration. He messed up.

"It's fine Dean." Cas said, giving Dean a reassuring smile.

"That's it?" Dean asked, expecting something more. Maybe something big and dramatic.

"That's it Dean. I learned that when you care about someone you should forgive them for all their faults, no matter how bad." Cas explained.

"Where'd you learn that?" Dean asked, smiling at the cheesiness of it.

"You."


	9. Carving

_We are the ocean. Strong, swift, beautiful. We are the sun. Bright, burning, hot. We are the desert. Thirsty, timeless, dying. We are the moon. Lovely, lively, distant. We are love. Unending, utopian, forever._

These were the words etched into the counter at the bar, the texture fading dully. It looked like the scratches had been there for years. And in truth they had, for many, many years they lingered there. The hands that created them long gone, but the love they thrived from still burning bright, fueling the sun and stars.

The forty five year old bartender still remembers when those words were carved deep into the counter. She was five years old at the time, her mother worked as a waitress then. She spent the afternoons here, coloring, reading and- as she got older- doing homework.

All these days were insignificant, all except the day the words were carved. The bartender- Ari- was sitting at a table, drawing a rough, messy rainbow with her assortment of crayons. They were scattered all over the table, some falling to the floor in a colorful heap. Some fell onto the opposite seat and others, the majority, stayed in place on the table.

It was roughly around seven o'clock, an hour and a half till her mother's shift was over. Ari saw three men in a group come in, one dressed like a businessman in a trench coat and the other two looking like the bar's regulars. One of the two was tall- like a tree Ari had thought at the time- and the other looked like he should have been on TV.

They all took a seat at the bar, the two normal looking ones sharing a laugh and the other taking in the sight of the bar, which wasn't much. It wasn't in bad shape, it just looked worn.

The three men ordered drinks, although Trench Coat man was looking at his drink like he'd never seen such a pure looking brand of liquor. They sat and drank for awhile, sharing laughs and jokes. Things got serious for a few minutes, but Movie Star man said something that broke that tense mood.

After about an hour Tree man left, waving off Movie Star man's offers of a ride back to the motel. After that it was just Trench Coat and Movie Star, sitting at the bar, making eyes at each other.

Even at such a young age Ari knew what love looked like. She had seen the same look in her parent's eyes whenever they saw one another. It was beautiful, pure and all theirs. Ari didn't care that both these people were men, she just knew that it didn't matter who or what you were as long as you loved.

Ari had set down her crayons, watching the two men and listening to their conversation. She didn't try to cover up what she was doing; she was enthralled by the conversation between the two.

"What am I?" Movie Star asked Trench Coat, giving off a broad smile.

"The sun." Trench Coat replied, after a moment of thought.

"Why the sun?" Movie Star asked. He wasn't complaining, just curious.

"You're bright, you seem to want as much attention as possible. You seem to fuel off of that, so you're burning and hot. You're always hot to the touch." Trench Coat explains.

They go at it like that for awhile, throwing words and explaining why they described each other as such. It was nice to see love in motion to Ari. It was a thing all its own.

When there was only twenty minutes left to her mother's shift, the men started to leave, but Movie Star stopped for a minute, looking down at the counter with a reminiscent smile.

"We should leave our mark here." He said, whipping out a small knife.

"That's vandalism." Trench Coat pointed out, not trying to coax him out of it just reminding him.

"So? I'll scratch in our word game." Movie Star says, grinning. He takes a seat again and starts digging his blade into the dark wood of the counter. The bartenders don't see anything and the other customers are either too drunk to realize what's going on or they just don't care.

It takes him awhile, but he finally gets all the words carved into the bar. They're rough and imperfect, but they're there to stay.

"Ready now?" Movie Star asks Trench Coat, proud of his work. Trench Coat merely nods, smiling, after glancing at the handiwork and they head out the door.

Ari and her mother leave not long after, going to pick up her father from the garage on their way home.

From then on, whenever Air saw love in any form, she was reminded of Trench Coat and Movie Star. They were hard to forget, not that she'd ever want to.

She took up a job at the bar when she got old enough just so she could be close to those words, the act of love she herself witnessed. Just being near the carving made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Now, all these years later, the words are still there, although dramatically duller. They reside in the wood for all to see, although no one pays attention to it. Many times someone had wanted to replace the aging counter. It was still very useful, sturdy; it was just fading with time. All these times Ari saved the counter, using one way or another.

She never wanted to see the thing, the love engraved into every particle, go.


	10. All I'm Worth

"Am I worth it?" Cas asked one afternoon. It wasn't all that long ago that he told Dean he may just kill himself if he ever returned to heaven. That little conversation still hung on in the back of Dean's mind, worry etching into his every thought.

"Worth what?" Dean asked. He was cleaning the Impala, a long overdue task. Cas was leaning against the door of the motel room, arms crossed across his chest. He'd been acting a little weird lately.

"All the grief I've put you and Sam through. I've done terrible things Dean, how can you look past that?" Cas asked, his brow wrinkled in disbelief. He had always considered himself quite lucky that he had someone like Dean in his long, tiresome life.

"Oh God, one more Hallmark Moment to add to the list. Shit, I guess because life is too short to keep grudges. They drag you down and eat you up. They suck. Besides, how could I not forgive you? It'd make this relationship awkward." Dean answered carefully, keeping his line of sight away from Cas'.

"You humans are so strange. You have a different perception of things than angel do." Cas replied, his eyes trying to find Deans.

"What would an angel do then?" Dean asked.

"We-they-keep grudges for a long time. We live long lives so it's not all that difficult to do so. When you have the ability to live forever you have a long time to contemplate your hate and revenge." Cas explained, rather ashamed.

"But that doesn't make sense. Wouldn't it be harder to keep grudges? You have to live forever knowing this asshole is still out there, alive and kicking and your still thinking about much you want them dead. Wouldn't that start to change you? Wouldn't you just want to forgive because of all the grief your own grudge is causing you?" Dean asked, setting his dirty rag in the bucket of soapy water and finally letting Cas catch his eye.

"That is a unique way of looking at it. I suppose an angel's mind is narrower that I earlier believed. You humans seem to have wider range of thought than most angels."

"Is that so? And they call _us_ simpler, unworthy. Angels sucks." Dean muttered.

"I'm sorry." Cas immediately replied.

"For what?" Dean asked, how brow crinkled.

"For the misfortune I bring."

"Cas, you're more human than angel nowadays. Sure, you got your mojo and all that but you've got humanity, something the rest of winged douche bags don't have." Dean explained. He grabbed his wet rag out of the bucket and began washing the car again, starting on the windows.

"Thank you, Dean." Cas said, smiling softly.

"For what?" Dean asked. He hadn't done anything special, not really.

"Nothing in particular, just everything."


	11. Stone Angels

I'm stone. Just another perished angel laid to rest in a cemetery or other sad, barren location. That's what we become when we die, stone angels. My time for resurrections is over, all my chances gone, run out. There's no more time left for me, although I wished I had just stayed alive long enough for Dean to die. That way he wouldn't have to be in pain, he'd be in his own corner of paradise. He'd be able to relive all of our best moments, all of his fondest memories. He'd be happy.

I haven't told Dean about what I'd become after I die. I didn't think I'd need to. I always thought I just might outlive him, although we die often enough to never know for sure which of us would go first.

I wish I at least got to tell him goodbye, I loved him and that I was just selfish enough to ask him to never move on. I couldn't bear the thought of him being with someone other than me. I know how bad that sounds but he is what gave me my free will, gave me my first taste of real emotion and humanity. He's the first and last person I'd ever truly loved.

I wish I could tell him I was still here. I know I can't be awakened from my petrified form, but it's still a nice thought. I'm not even aware where I am, although I know it's the United States. The cemetery looks familiar enough, old and seems to have not been used in a long time. I know I've seen this place before but I just can't get it out.

From where I am, I've got the view of an old, twisted tree, facing away from the small cemetery's entrance. No one ever comes here, it's always deserted, no one but the dead in their coffins. I hear birds though, sometimes. Their songs make the days seem better. They often sing of life, their daily routines. They don't understand the pain of the human race, they ignore it. Ignorance really is bliss.

I've kept a tally of my days here, sixty four to be exact. Each day is slower than the next, all of them quiet. Nothing changes here. I've taken life for granted, taken heaven for granted also. I'm ashamed of my lack of appreciation. My father gave me life, a home, company and I haven't even thanked him. He gave me everything I have and I haven't said a damn word in thanks. I'm unworthy of being his son. I'm unworthy of the wings on my back. This lonely afterlife is a suitable punishment.

Maybe my last years of life were punishment. I was given freedom, love, and it was all ripped away over and over again till the game was done and I was laid to rest here, in desolation. If that is the case, I'm not angry with him. I've gotten what I deserve.

Today is a Sunday. It's a beautiful, early summer morning. The plant life may be dying, but the sunrise is pristine and the songs of the birds seem to be even more brilliant than they were before. Something has changed today, something magnificent.

Later on in the day I hear the familiar rumble of a car coming near the gates. I'm filled with nostalgia, the car sounding so much like Dean's beloved Impala I believed I'd be able to cry in that instant. Faint music spilled from speakers, a song that I believed to be titled Stairway to Heaven. It seems almost appropriate.

The song is sad, but beautiful. It's a strange mixture of emotions.

The car stops abruptly, cutting off the song mid verse. I hear two car doors slam shut and the thud of boots on the ground.

"Son of a bitch. He was telling the truth." A familiar voice said. It cracked, all sorts of emotion flowing through his words.

The thud of boots pounding across the ground became hurried and loud, racing closer and closer to my stone form.

"Dean, wait! It may not be him!" another voice, Sam, called to his brother.

"It wasn't here last time! It's either him or some other god damn angel." Dean shouted back. He came into my field of vision, his face soaked in tears. He reached a hand tentatively up to my face, smiling at me though his tears.

"It's him, Sammy. Trench coat and all." Dean called, unwilling to tear his eyes from my face.

Sam approached, looking bewildered and disbelieving. His mouth broke into a smile and he clamped a hand on Dean's shoulder, gently squeezing it.

"Do your thing." He told Dean, shoving him just a bit.

"Then go wait out in the car." Dean demanded, leaving no room for argument. Sam rolled his eyes, but dragged himself off to the car. I heard the door slam closed, signaling Dean to turn back to me.

"Crowley told me, if you're wondering. There was no price; his reasoning was just that he wanted a chance to kill you himself. I don't know how he knew, maybe the angel he'd been torturing told him. I don't know. I'm just glad I found you, Cas." Dean explained, his eyes pricking with new tears. He wiped them away, leaving a wet blotch on his sleeve.

I could do nothing but watch.

"The ass hat also told me how to break you free. You know, not all angels go like this. Some go off into their own realm of paradise and other end up here if they believe they need to be punished. This is them living out their self proclaimed punishment. To be honest, I'm glad you went like this. Otherwise I wouldn't be able to bring you back." Dean rambled, his fists clenching and unclenching.

He took a deep breath and took a step onto my base, becoming eye level with me. I wanted so much to touch him, to tell him so many things at that moment. But the moment was his.

He smiled to himself, and then leaned in close to press his warm, lively lips to my own cold, stony ones. The touch only lasted a second, but I felt warmth radiating out from my mouth and spread to my head, all the way down to my toes. I wriggled my fingers, relishing in the movement. I felt the soft breeze hit my face, tousle my hair. Never again would I take this life for granted.

I couldn't find the words needed to express my thoughts in that moment. All I could do was smile and stare into Dean's murky, thoughtful green eyes. He was smiling back, taking my chilled hand in his own rough one. He backed down onto the ground, taking me with him.

"How- how did you know where I was?" I asked. The task seemed long and impossible for someone as limited as a human being.

"Crowley said that whatever bone yard an angel ended up I would have sort of significance to them. I didn't quite trust the guy, but it was the only lead I had." Dean explained, making no attempt to move.

"How long have you known?" I asked.

"We found out about angel afterlife a few weeks ago. I was trying to break you out, but Crowley showed up last week and explained you were probably rotting in some cemetery because of all your guilt." Dean said. He was scratching the back of his neck, smiling broadly. I don't think any smile could rival his.

"Thank you, Dean." I say, making no effort to move from my spot on the dead grass.

"Don't mention it. Anyways, why wouldn't I try to get you back? Do you hate yourself that much as to think I wouldn't find a way to save your damn ass?" Dean asked his tone playful and serious all in one.

"I believe so, but I've taken my long life for granted. I won't do that again, I'll appreciate every moment I have." I say, starting to move away from Dean and to the car, because I could. It felt nice to be able to walk, to feel, again.

"You're an idiot sometimes, you know that? We all make mistakes dumbass, stop beating yourself up for it." Dean said, moving to climb into the driver seat of his beloved car.

I took a deep breath and climbed into the vacant passenger seat. Sam had taken one of the back ones. I didn't know why, but I didn't question him. After Dean successfully pulled out of the beaten cemetery, he took my undamaged hand in his own, calloused, weathered one.

We drove for miles and miles, leaving Kansas as fast as we could. After we got out of Kansas, Sam and Dean began telling me of the things I missed, which wasn't much. A few hunts, nothing more. The angels have been 'lying low', as Dean put it.

Late that night we arrived at a motel, one like all the others we came to rest at, and Dean and I made up for lost time well into the early hours of morning.


	12. The Darkest Hour

Dean sat on the Impala's glossy hood under stars in the motel parking lot, but all he saw was darkness, an overwhelming wave of it. It was all he could see, all he would ever see. There would be no more star gazing, no more watching Sam's bitch faces. No more looking eagerly at a pie tin, not even looking briefly into Castiel's jeweled eyes. It was all gone and he couldn't do anything about it.

He begged Castiel to fix him, to find a way, but all Castiel said was, "I can't fix what isn't there." He left after that, going who the hell knows where. It felt like a sock in the stomach to Dean, hearing the pity in the other man's voice. Dean felt so helpless, alone. It was a feeling he hated.

"Friggin' demons." Dean muttered to the night, his voice tense and ice cold. The last thing he saw kept whipping trough his head, like a broken VHS or DVD player.

He saw the demon's fingers going for his eyes, greedy and terrifying. He whipped his face away, trying to get back when he saw Castiel, fighting off a demon bitch of his own. He saw the light bounce right off Castiel's eyes, light a bright salted fire's reflection bouncing off ice and then he felt the pain. Sharp, bloody, and tortuous right in his eye sockets. He felt his eyes being ripped from his head, taking so much pain and blood with them. At the time it seemed like an act straight out of a primitive war.

All he had in those empty sockets now been two milky white marbles, terrifying and devilish to look at. Whenever Dean removed his shades, he could almost feel the shock and fear of those around him. It was nearly like he was a walking, talking dead guy.

But, it could all be worse.

Dean could be dead, deaf, paraplegic. Any number of things could be worse than being blind. Considering it all, Dean was damn lucky and he wasn't going to complain.

It's been months since the attack. Dean's gotten better navigating around, but he lost his baby, his ability to shoot a gun, and his life's work. Dean didn't know what to do with life now except stare off into space, sass off, and eat. It's been a boring existence.

Castiel hasn't left Dean once, not while he can help it, at least. He lets Dean piss by himself and do a few other things but mostly Dean can feel the angels presence in the room. Dean's been drifting away from Castiel, closed off a bit, but Castiel remains resilient, like stone.

Dean's ashamed of his weakness, the disability. He can barely speak to Castiel, let alone touch him in ways only Dean would be allowed to. It's heartbreaking for both of them, but Castiel doesn't say a word. Doesn't complain, doesn't try to coax Dean into talking. He leaves the ex Hunter to his own pitiful devices.

Once, Dean asked Castiel why he never left. Why was he sticking around for a broken, although thankful, guy like him? Castiel could leave anytime and go anywhere, but he stuck around. Why?

"You don't deserve to be abandoned by anyone, Dean, let alone someone who loves you as much as I do." Castiel had answered. They went back to their respectful silences after that.

Dean leaned into the Impala's windshield, back aching for sitting up straight this long. He rested his head, letting the soft spring air smooth over his face and through his hair. It was a nice feeling, the touch loving. But human contact was still better.

Out of the silence of the night, Dean heard the tell tale flutter of wings. He nearly reached out to touch them before he realized he couldn't really see them, even if he had eyes. They weren't really there. They weren't anywhere.

"Hey, Cas." Dean said nonchalantly, giving a little half smile.

"Hello, Dean." Castiel replied, rather awkwardly. He, too, was used to their long living silence. He missed Dean, all parts of him, his voice, his laugh, his touch, even his vivid green eyes.

"How's life?" Dean asked, trying to spark a conversation. He cared, he did, but it was hard to feel anything with Castiel this close, within touching distance.

"You don't want to know, Dean." Castiel replied forlornly, his voice tired and sad.

"Yeah, probably don't. Halo patrol acting like dick bags again?" Dean asked out of blatant curiosity.

"The angels are not the reason for my unease, Dean." Castiel huffed. Dean could hear Castiel shift, the sound of the trench coat traveling along the night into his hears.

"Oh, then uh, what is?" Dean asked, feeling a 'moment' creeping up.

"You." Castiel answered simply.

"Me? How the hell am I to blame for your bad day?" Dean yelled, straightening up on the hood.

"Not just my day, Dean. These past few months. You can barely talk to me, barely do anything these days and it just…sucks." Castiel got out, his words strained and heavy with Castiel's hidden pain.

"Can't blame a blind guy. Disability perks." Dean said, thinking he was too clever.

"I'm not throwing out blame; I'm giving you the answer to your question."

"Sure as hell sounds like blame." Dean muttered, retreating back into his well developed shell.

"Maybe it's because you don't know what pain sounds like." Castiel muttered low enough for Dean to be unable to hear. Castiel had been getting better with his modern language skills. Sarcasm was doing him some good lately.

"Did you say something?" Dean asked, his brow furrowed.

"No, I didn't." Castiel replied, and then added, "Do you trust me, Dean?"

"Uh, yeah. Of course I do. I've kinda had to trust you, man. I do sleep with you regularly after all. That needs a level of trust." Dean pointed out, smirking despite the tense mood in the cool night.

"Did." Castiel corrected silently, blinking back a tear. He took a deep, shuddering breath and sat in the vacant space next to Dean, longing for the closeness.

"So you do trust me, correct?" Castiel asked again, for clarification.

"Yeah, Cas, I do." Dean replied with a sigh.

"Thank you." Castiel said, smiling just a little.

Dean woke up early the next morning on his creaky, motel room bed. He sat up slowly after a few minutes, cracking his eye lids open.

When he did, a flood of light hit him squarely in the retinas, temporarily searing them. Dean blinked over and over, opening them again when the pain went away. Soon, the light faded out and he saw blurry shapes, slowly coming into focus.

He saw the window across the room, the motel table sitting under it. He saw the comforter over him, the brown carpet flooring. He even saw Sam on the opposite bed.

"Holy friggin' shit." He muttered, sitting in stunned silence. He leapt off the bed, unsure was to if he was dreaming or not. He knew one way to find out.

He ran out of the motel room, slamming the door loudly behind him, and opened the trunk of the Impala, in search of a knife. He pulled a smaller one out and cut his forearm, waiting for the familiar sting and the rush of blood.

It came, it all friggin' came. The wound bled, the ruby droplets splashing the asphalt and Dean's bare foot.

"Sam!" Dean shouted as he closed up the trunk and went back into the motel room.

He went in to find Sam already up, probably startled awake the slamming door. He looked a little groggy, running a hand through his mane of hair.

"Shit, Dean, did you get knew eyes?" Sam asked, staring at Dean in confusion and awe. There was awe in Sam's hazel eyes.

"What the hell? No, I didn't get new eyes, well yea I did, just not fake ones." Dean shouted back, a rush of adrenaline pumping in his system.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked slowly, trying to make sense of Dean's words.

"I can see right now, Sammy. I see you and your confused as shit face, I see the brown tee shirt your wearing and I can the shitty brown carpet of this damn motel. I can fucking see!" Dean shouted, elation mixing with the adrenaline.

Dean walked over and clasped a hand on Sam's shoulder, grinning broadly.

"You're not kidding, are you?" Sam asked, his dark green eyes wide and disbelieving.

"Yeah, I aint shitting ya." Dean confirmed.

"Then go check yourself out in the mirror, man." Sam said cautiously, staring at Dean's newly reformed eyes.

Dean frowned, unclear of what Sam was saying, but he complied. He flicked the bathroom light on and looked in the mirror, checking out his face for what Sam was talking about. After a moment, something began to look wrong. His eyes were the wrong color.

Instead of the green, flecked ones he used to see in the mirror every day, he saw blue ones. The same blue he saw right before he lost his sight, the very same. The ones that looked like salted fire reflected on ice. Castiel's.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean screamed. He wanted to tear these new eyes out and hand them back to Castiel, apologizing for being so stupid and selfish. He wanted to scream, beg Castiel to take the eyes back. Dean didn't deserve them, wasn't worthy of the gift he possessed.

"Dean, you okay?" Sam yelled as he ran into the bathroom.

"Castiel gave me his mother-" Dean began as he abruptly heard the _whoosh_ of arriving wings.

Dean ran out of the bathroom, prepared to start a fight over these damn eyes when he saw Castiel, bright blue eyes still resting in his head. But they looked different; they didn't have the same light they normally had.

"What the hell?" Dean asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"These are only temporary, I assure you. Joshua gave me word that my own sight shall be restored. What good is a blind angel to anyone?" Castiel asked, a warm and loving smile lighting his face.

"You gave me your eyes." Dean bluntly said, as if it weren't obvious.

"Yes, I did. But like it was earlier said, my sight will be restored. A gift from God, I suppose. The other angels are furious over what I have done and persuaded Joshua to 'slip' the idea in the next time he spoke to God. I would have been happy being blind, but the other angels won't have that." Castiel replied softly, giving a smile to his beloved.

Dean returned the smile, although unsure of what to say back. He decided on saying thank you then went outside to get a good look at the world again, stare at the diners across the street, look at the glossy finish of his worn out baby. Pretty much avoiding a lifetime movie moment

Sam lingered inside with Castiel.

"How much of that was the truth, Castiel?" he asked cautiously.

Castiel smiled, knowing Sam at least would figure him out. Dean could, but he was blinded by his newly gained sight and pleasure.

"Almost all of it, except the temporary situation regarding my eyes. I'll be getting a new pair here soon that look more realistic. I'm not getting my sight back." Castiel admitted, his voice laid back and content with his decision.

"I thought so, but why'd you lie to him?" Sam asked.

"If I told him the truth Dean'd just try to get me to take them back and if I refused, which I would have, he'd most likely gouge the eyes out. Besides, sometimes ignorance is bliss." Castiel explained quickly, his hands stuffed in the wrinkled pockets of his trench coat.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. But what are you gonna do now? You can't see." Sam pointed out, as if it weren't obvious enough.

"I know Sam, but I don't need to see. I know this Earth. I know all about its past, present and, future like I know the back of my hand, or even Dean's. I don't need the privilege of sight to guide me through the world." Castiel said, smiling to ease the slight tension in the room.

"God Cas, if Dean finds out-" Sam started before he was cut off.

"He won't find out. Maybe in a few years I'll tell him, but now is not the time. I don't want him slipping back into the broken shell of a man he had become. I don't think I can handle that again. But, these eyes are my gift to him. He's done far more than he should and I'm grateful." Castiel explained, moving slowly throughout the room.

"Okay, so don't tell Dean. I'll remember that. Just try not to act as blind as possible, okay?" Sam asked as he went to step outside. Castiel nodded and followed him out.


	13. The Day All The Good Things Died

*A/N: Inspired by castielcito's picture on tumblr. One of my favorite Destiel pictures.

The battle was going strong, roughly so. The coppery, penny scent of blood lay thick in the air, as if it were suddenly molding to the atmosphere. It was revolting. It'd made a Hell Hound throw up its lunch.

Sam had the knife in his hand, trying to battle his way to a lower level demon's heart, or any other readily available body part. He was almost there, he had already severely wounded the demon but it was still fighting, although weakly, but wasn't ready to give up.

Castiel was smiting off demon after demon, grabbing one right after the other in a synched pattern. Seeing him at work, Dean thought, was almost like watching a carefully composed dance. Even in the midst of a battle, the angel was still graceful.

Dean was trying to find his way to the newly discovered Word of God, the angel tablet. Sam and Castiel were the diversions; Dean was the one the demons _really_ should have been after. They were all too preoccupied to notice him.

Dean slunk past the fight, his mind too focused on getting the tablet to be worried, although there was the familiar nag in the back of his mind that at any moment something, anything, could go wrong. That little thought was always stuck in his head, even on the calm and east nights.

After making sure he wasn't being watched, Dean dived into the backroom that a thick sheet of plastic hung over the doorway. He looked over his shoulder, just to be sure, and looked in the smaller, nearly empty room.

All that sat in the room was a worn out desk, a wooden dining chair and a tall safe. Luckily safe cracking was a skill he'd had drilled into him growing up.

Dean jogged over to the safe and spun the dial, listening intently for the little clicking sounds as he drowned out the mini battle outside. Within a few moments the safe was opened, revealing nothing more than the tablet and loads of cash and ammunition. Dean grabbed the tablet and ran out of the room, yelling, "Abort mission! Tablet out of enemy hands! I repeat: Abort mission! Tablet out of enemy hands!"

Dean wasn't even paying attention to the scene in front of him; he was just wanted to get to the car. But he stopped when he heard Sam's laughter, amused and joyous.

"Dean, they're all dead. No need to rush back like we're leaving Hitler's personal quarters." Sam explained, blood spattered over the front of his shirt and bits of his face. Castiel looked similar, although not as badly seeing as how he hadn't actually made any of his own victim's bleed, like Sam had.

"Oh, I uh, knew that." Dean replied awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. He let out a sigh, but gave a weak little smile, holding the tablet up in triumph. His green eyes glowed with pride and large quantities of his ego.

"Sure you did, big guy, whatever makes you sleep at night. Now let's get the hell out of here before Crowley shows." Sam said, grabbing Castiel and shoving him forward with a grin.

Dean bit back a remark, but headed out the car anyways, grumbling to himself about 'manhood' or something of the sort.

After that, it all began in a blur. A shadow darted from a corner, rippling against the scenery. There was a flash of silver, a scream of tortuous agony and a flash of light whiter than all forms of purity.

Dean whipped around as Sam chased after the forgotten demon, stabbing him fluidly in the jugular. Dean ran and caught Castiel right before his knees could hit the ground. The angels head rolled forward, blood dribbling from his mouth slowly, like a stream of liquidated rubies.

Dean could hear Castiel's ragged, sharp breathing. He was trying to grip Dean's arms clumsily, reddish tears dotting the corners of his eyes. His hand reached up, soaked in his own blood, and touched the side of Dean's face, leaving streaks on him.

"Dean." Castiel wheezed out, smiling lightly.

"C'mon Cas, please don't." Dean whispered through the tears falling on his mouth and down his chin.

"I'm glad you'll be the last thing I see before I die." The angel went on, ignoring Dean's plea.

"No!" Dean yelled, his gaze refusing to meet Castiel's.

"You can't save everyone, my love." Castiel whispered, smiling wistfully.

And with a bright flash of light, and a searing burst of pain across Dean's chest and shoulders, Castiel was dead, leaving nothing but a body and scorched wing marks on the ground and across Dean himself. Always a reminder of this day.

The cry Dean let out could be mistaken for many things; a demon, a deranged angel, a wailing of a Dalek on Asylum, and a man in deep, pitiful anguish.


	14. Lost Hope And Dying Love

"Castiel! Kill him, dammed it." Naomi screamed at Castiel, her palms pressed into Castiel's shoulder's, pinning him painfully to the wall. She was like Medusa, her stare turning Castiel slowly to stone.

Naomi understood this was dangerous territory she was walking into. Telling an angel, a _person_, like Castiel to commit murder out of cold blood, especially to someone he loved, could be the very thing that made him snap. He could finally remember, fight back, and destroy everything Naomi has worked for. She was walking on thin ice with a layer of lava underneath it.

Castiel was quaking severely underneath Naomi's hands, his electric eyes boring down into hers with fright and pain, etched with steely determination. Determined for what, though?

"I can't do it, I can't. You've made me kill before; I know that, even though I only seem to know such a thing when I'm here. One innocent life isn't enough for you, though, is it? You need to keep adding bodies to the list I'm trying keep clean. I'm finally _helping _people. I'm trying to gain God's trust. Maybe heaven's, too." Castiel replies, his sight unmoving from Naomi.

She releases the angel, repeats her order and sends him away; doing the only thing she can do now. Hope.

XxXxXxX

Castiel wakes up, as if from a dream. He knows no time has passed, his watch and Dean's rambling tell him that. But he feels as if he's been gone, like he's missing something important.

He has a mission in his head, something planted there by someone other than himself. It's tugging at every crevice of his mind, begging him to do the deed. But there's a tiny fraction of a part that tells him he's wrong, that this is all so completely wrong. He's not in his right mind; he doesn't know what he's thinking.

"Hey, Cas, you okay?" Dean asks, stopping mid story, worry slightly swirling through his voice.

At the sound of it, Castiel's snaps out of his reverie, focusing on the task in his head. He steps towards Dean, placing a hand firmly on his shoulder. Castiel draws out the angel blade, glistening brightly under the moonlight.

"Hey, what're you doing with that?" Dean asked. He had no fear in his voice, just curiosity. His mouth tugged up at one corner, in a sly smile.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I can't help it, I'm so sorry." Castiel whispered, the edge of the blade digging in his palm hard enough to draw a little blood.

"For what? What the fuck, Cas?" Dean asks, his brow knit tightly and his voice strained. He tries to get Castiel to look at him, but it doesn't work. Castiel absolutely refuses to look at Dean.

"Dean, remember this; I love you. Nothing can take that away. I love you so much, and only tonight am I realizing what kind of power love has." Castiel replies softly, smiling lovingly and warmly at Dean. This smile told Dean everything would be alright, everything would be fine. Nothing could ever harm him.

"You'll always have the protection of a guardian angel, Dean Winchester." Castiel said just before plunging the angel blade into his own chest. It was swift, unstoppable. There was nothing anyone could have done to stop the blade from ripping through flesh and blood, not even God himself.

Castiel coughed up blood, marking the pavement with its boldness. Even in the dark, you could see the dark stains the blood left on the ground. Within seconds night turns to a pure white, angelic day, drowning out everything in sight. The light burned to look at, it was almost like shoving an iron up to your eyes.

Dean felt heat, blistering and painful, ride up his arm, like he was being branded. It was white hot, like Hell but had the welcoming power of Heaven. Dean was lost in it, forgetting for a moment that Castiel just killed himself, branding Dean with the shadow of a wing on his entire left arm.

The scream that pierced the night when he awakened from his trance could rival nothing. It was a torrent of lost love, pain, a flood of memories and the lingering words left by Castiel's death. Just to hear it, you felt as if you were being tortured yourself.


	15. Guardian Angel

The light was blinding, the heat equivalent to that of the sun. A bright pain blossomed in Castiel, red hot and warm, running down his body. With those last uttered words, his body collapsed, knees smacking against the dark lit concrete. Arms caught his limp body, strong and inviting.

A sob broke out into the night, splitting the sky with its anguish. It reached Castiel, wherever he was.

It was hazy, foggy. It was like running your hand over wet ink, smudging the scenery, just barely recognizing whatever the drawing was. The sounds were muffled, as if he were listening through a heavy door. Ever so slowly, things began taking clarity.

The foggy, smudginess cleared away and the sound was crystal clear, HD quality.

It was the parking lot. Dark, sad and lonely. All the life was sucked away, leaving a barren space of pain and loss. Sobs, cries and curses, ripped through the air. They were angry, confused, and sad. The sound was the very definition of pain.

Castiel glanced down at the two huddled figures by a night colored car, one limp, head rolled back, the other hunched over and shuddering with the sobs.

"Why? Why? Why?" the figure kept repeating, over and over again.

Castiel knelt down, knowing the voice as well as he knew his grace. The voice was one who awakened him so many times, gave him hope and crushed him. It was uplifting and it was pain. But most of all, Castiel believed it was the audible incarnation of love.

Looking at the limp figure, he saw his own body, the vessel he's come to claim as his own. It's just as much a part of him as his own grace would. This body is who he is, what has molded him, turned him human with the aid of a certain Hunter. Its home. A home with Dean.

It's him who's crying, Dean. The sobs tearing their way from his throat, tainting the world with his misery. Castiel's ashamed of the pain he caused, but he would do it again. He'd do anything to keep Dean safe, no matter the cost.

He moved his hand to Dean's left shoulder, laying his hand over the same spot that he used to lift Dean from Hell. His hand found the spot with ease, finding the place it truly belongs. Castiel smiled at the shuddering hunter as said hunter lifted his head, the tears stopping without warning.

"I'm sorry, Dean." Castiel whispered, warmth from his voice traveling into the air, sending a pleasant shiver down Dean's spine.

"Cas?" he asked tiredly, his red, swollen eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"I'll always be here, Dean. I'll protect you. Always." Castiel said, moving to place a ghostly kiss on Dean's forehead.


	16. This Day

There he sits, Dean Winchester, five years old with a picture book in his hands. Under the tree in his sitter's backyard is where he reads, easily and smoothly since his mother taught him. "Reading is our greatest pleasure." She told him once, leaning down to brush her lips on the top of his head. He remembers her every day, what she smelt like, what she looked like, even the sound of her voice in his ear as she tucked him into bed.

His mother was his best friend, aside from Sammy. But Sammy was just a baby, not much fun since he couldn't do much. Dean wishes Sammy could have had a life with her, one where she made PB&J sandwiches and cut away the crust, where she sang him Hey Jude till he turned eight and could properly sleep without her voice. A life where dad was always home and they weren't moving away so often.

Dean missed his old room, the one that shelved his toys and books, had a view of the yard below. He would've played catch with Sammy there in the hot summers and threw snowballs in the cold winters.

Listening to these thoughts was Castiel, who stood by Dean in a form such as the wind. He couldn't do anything in this form other than move small things, like hair and leaves, sway the flower petals. He'd need his true form or a vessel for the big stuff, but the wind was good for now. Dean was in no harm, his charge would remain safe.

This may have been the moment Castiel, the angel of Thursday, came to care for Dean Winchester. Not in a romantic way, yet, but wanting nothing more than this boy's safety and happiness. He's been in charge of the boy since his birth, but never had he truly wanted anything other than to keep him alive till now.

They said too much heart was always his problem, but that didn't problem start two thousand years ago, when he watched men and women get slaughtered for being different, not a hundred years ago when children were forced to provide for their families and were killed on the job. It didn't start till this day, when he rustled Dean's hair and blew pink , blue and yellow flowers to tickle his cheeks, just to see this sad boy smile.

And he did, a giggle escaping his lips as the petals tickled his flesh. He swatted them away, but picked up a blue one, the color of the ocean and blue velvet, using it to hold his book's place. He stood up, looking around the yard as he felt a warm glow rest over him, as if someone were watching over him. At the time, he'd like to have thought it was Mary, keeping her baby safe, but as he got older and learned knew things, he came to know it was the angel called Castiel, loving him from afar as only a guardian angel could.


	17. Can't Let Go

It was hard to breathe. There was hardly any air and it was dark, a musty scent filing the small enclosure. Dean wasn't sure where he was, the last thing he remembered was the battle over the tablets. There's not much he remembers, though.

What he does recollect are strong arms encircling him, making him feel safe, a desolate, hopeless feeling in his chest and wetness beginning to form in the corners of his eyes. Eyes. He remembers those, too. Bright blue like lightening striking an ocean in pure daylight. It seemed like a bit of an over-the-top description, but it's what Dean last remembers thinking.

There were sounds, of course. Grunts and screams, gun shots and the faint sound of knives through skin. There was also crying, whispered murmurs and promises, tears splashing on Dean's exposed, bloody cheek. So much blood.

It came from his throat, he remembers. It hurt like an icy hell, sharp pain as warm rivulets or blood ran down his neck. After that it was gone, there was silence and emptiness, the feeling of arms supporting him lingering.

Snapping out of his reverie, Dean reaches up, feeling wooden paneling above him.

"Only the best for a Winchester." Dean muttered, testing the wood for a weak spot before he thrust his hand through it.

Dean never thought he'd have to crawl his way out of a coffin again.

He moved away as much of the broken coffin as he could, digging through the dirt before he ran out of air and died, _again_. He needed to stop this dying game, it was becoming too much of a bother. Dying and waking up again, countless times, over and over again. It was nice at first, but soon he had just wished he'd stayed dead. Until he found someone he wanted to come back for, at least.

It didn't take too long to claw his way out. When the crisp morning air touched his fist for the first time, it felt like a reawakening or a rebirth. The air washing away the pain he has endured not all that long ago.

Before his head could break through, Dean felt a firm, strong hand clasp his own. Unclenching his fist, Dean held on tight. Whoever it was, they were offering help, and right now that was good enough for him.

A few strong tugs later, Dean was half out of the dirt, lifting his legs out of the Earth and trying to stand up, difficultly, on his own. The other person gave Dean support, holding onto him while he righted himself. One didn't spend only God knows how long in the dirt and stand up naturally, without fault.

Looking up, Dean saw him. Cas, his varying shades of blue eyes, smiling in tranquil disbelief. He looked like a broken man slowly building himself back up, trying to hold the loose pieces of himself together.

"Cas?" Dean asked, his voice gruff and cracking with neglect.

"Hello Dean." Cas replied, his voice breaking in a way it hasn't before. By the looks of it, Dean must have been gone a long time. The world didn't look all that different, but the way Cas looked, fragile and breaking, made it seem as so.

Dean was still uneasy on his feet, his footing not quite there yet. He let go of Cas and fell to the ground, landing square on his ass. The dirt felt soft, comfortable, underneath him.

"How long has it been?" Dean asked, turning his attention to his scarred hands. They trailed to his neck, feeling the ugly scar along his neck. Whoever brought him back wanted to bring him back to life but not erase his past.

"Long enough." Cas simply replied, getting down on his knees in front of Dean.

"Cas, don't dodge the question. How long?" Dean asked, his voice tightening.

"Sixty years." Cas murmured, seemingly ashamed. He shifted slightly, as much as he could in his position.

"All this time and I'm only coming back now? What the hell happened?" Dean asked as loudly as his voice would allow in its current state.

"Sam asked to bury you himself and he did not reveal your body's location to me. He knew I'd bring you back and he didn't want that. I was too much of a…wreck to bring you back when you first passed. I couldn't simply track you down, your soul had already left your body. That what I do, track souls. I've spent all these years looking for you, just to find you in a park long gone, the one where I first smiled and it was in your presence. It's a forest now." Cas explained slowly, his voice threatening to unleash all the pain and hurt he was holding back. Decades old pain. "I used the last of my 'mojo' on resurrecting you. I've chosen to fall so that I may finally spend my life with you, grow old with you and die properly." He added when Dean said nothing.

"What happened to Sammy?" Dean finally asked. His hands were kneading in the dirt, like a stress ball.

"He moved away from the bunker, which I've kept in pristine condition, begged Amelia for forgiveness and had a family with her. He had a daughter, Deanna Samantha Winchester. He and his wife have passed, but Deanna still lives. She's got a family of her own, now." Cas answered, sinking farther in the ground.

Dean nodded in acknowledgement, a little tear slipping from his eye, but he did nothing more. He was happy for Sam, he got the life he wanted and so much deserved. Dean just wishes he could have lived to see it.

"He died happy right? Of a heart attack, pumping himself full of Viagra in his old age, right?" Dean asked hopefully, looking up into Cas' eyes with hope and faith.

"I'm not sure about the Viagra, but he did die of cardiac arrest." Cas confirmed, inching his hand closer to take Dean left hand, smoothing his thumb over the rough, yet comforting, skin.

"What'd you do, Cas? Besides looking for me."

"Nothing, I refused to live a fulfilling life if you weren't a part of it." Cas replied.

"You sentimental son of a bitch." Dean said with a gruff laugh, looking up to meet Cas' eye. They made him smile, their warmth bringing pieces of Dean back.

"So you've said."

"I know I have dumbass, now get over here before I have a breakdown." Dean demanded, leaning forward to meet Cas in the middle, who gripped him tight around the middle, burying his head in the crook of his shoulder. Dean could feel his scruff, the familiar sensation bringing him back to the good days.

"I've missed you." Cas murmured, his voice muffled by Dean's skin.

"Yeah, missed you too." Dean admitted, kissing the top of Cas's head, trying not to lose it. He felt like he could crush the other man with how tight he was holding him. And he never wanted to let go.

Neither did Cas.


	18. The Angel and the Righteous Man

**Before I kick off this chapter, I'd like to take a second to thank a reviewer, VampireCari, for the reviews they left me. They were probably the best, most inspiring reviews I've ever gotten. I've never felt so proud of my work before and I've never felt like I was doing these characters justice till I read the reviews. So, thank you. It means so much to me to read a review like this, especially when I'm trying to come up with a new prompt. Without further ado, here's chapter 18**

There once was a mortal, a righteous man buried a thousand leagues into hell. There he lay for thirty years, instruments of pain slipping into his flesh like he was nothing more than water. He bled and he bled, only to be made whole again at the end of every session.

Every time he was told he could get off the rack, if only he took the knives himself and cut into an innocent soul. And every time he said no with a sting to his words as he spit out a mouthful of blood.

Eventually, the pain became too terrible and too unbearable, so the righteous man said yes. He took the knife and cut and sawed upon soul after soul, eventually taking joy in the pain he caused. He wanted to hear their screams, beg for the mercy that wouldn't come.

"Have you no mercy, no soul?" they asked, eyes wide and dripping with tears, their bodies stiff with terror.

"Those have died within me." The righteous man would reply, which was a rarity in itself.

Sometimes, he remembered the man he was, who saved people and slayed monsters, remembering the humanity he once possessed. In these moments he was terrified of the being he had become.

What he didn't know was there was an angel of the lord making his way deep into the bowels of hell to save him and the flicker of humanity that was buried deep inside him. He'd been there the whole time, taking forty years to find the man and lay a hand upon his shoulder.

He was a mass of white, a light only a number of souls could see past. The righteous man feared him, saw a monster in what was a savior. His time in hell damaged him, made him see things in a distorted reality. But when the angel touched his palm to the man's flesh, all fears were forgotten and the man clung to the white light like an anchor.

No demon fought to reclaim the righteous man, they too feared the sacred creature in their dirty land. There was too much to lose for the sake of someone as pitiful as the man, who was just as broken as the angel, something the angel never acknowledged before. All he knew was order and obedience, he didn't know the freedom and joy of free will.

Setting the righteous man on his feet, the angel rose into Heaven, keeping a watchful eye on the man till they were ready to meet.

In the kingdom of Heaven, the angel watched for a small sect of time, coming when he was called. There was confrontation, suspicion, and fear in their meeting but the righteous man saw the way and knew the angel was no one to fear.

Time passed, the angel moving and staying by the man's side. They fought wars together, sometimes wars against each other. But with every ticking second, feelings grew between the two beings, neither of them acknowledging what was becoming.

Eventually, the angel fell, sacrificing an eternal life and power for a forever with the mortal man. The man, with self hatred as strong and fierce as the winter winds, couldn't understand why anyone would do such a thing for someone as pitiful and small as him. _There_ _were so many more men better than me_, he thought, _so why would he give up everything for a man like me?_

Love. That was the answer. It looks past all faults and accepts the object of their affections for everything they used to be, will be, and is at this moment. It isn't picky and it isn't mean, it just is. That's all a person needs to know.

After much assurance, the righteous man accepted the feelings he could not change and held onto the love that was given to him. From that day to the end of his life, he held onto the angel with an iron fist, keeping him close and cherishing what was forever his.


	19. The World I Know

In the train station's bathroom Cas sat in the only closed stall. He was alone, which was a blessing in itself. The Angel Tablet was held against his chest, his heart beating frantically against it. It's cold surface chilling his skin through his shirt and cooling his fingers.

He began to hate it, he wanted nothing more than to throw it into the deepest ocean and never look at it again. He wanted to lock it away in Lucifer's cage, where it could do no harm. Cas wanted to turn it to dust in his fingers, but it could not be. He had been given the gift of translating it and the burden of keeping it safe, which meant keeping it away from Dean, the man who possessed the power of sealing Heaven forever.

_The Righteous Man, _the tablet began,_ holds the power to lock away God's heavenly knights and seal away Paradise for eternity. He and he alone, can shut them away and never release them from their prison. _

Dean. That's the only man it could be, right? Only a righteous man could kill The Whore of Babylon and break the first seal. He was the side of the light, whereas Dean himself thought differently. He could seal Heaven away forever.

Cas had to hide, run and run without a destination, from Dean. Deep down, Cas believed Dean would never do such a thing. Locking Heaven meant locking away Cas, too. Surely Dean wouldn't do that. But running was instinct. Once he broke free of Naomi's control and suddenly felt the cool rock in his hand, a sudden instinct to flee overcame Cas. It was difficult not to vanish the instant he awoke, but he had to see Dean for one more second before he did.

Running's hard when you've got the man you love most praying to you, his voice in your head at all times of the day. Morning, afternoon, night, even when Dean was asleep he was praying. His dreams began with _Hey, Cas_ and ended with _Please come home_, just like his conscious prayers. He probably didn't even realize he was telling Cas to come home, to a place he's never been to or even seen. In a way he has, through Dean. Dean's fed him images without quite realizing it, little messages hidden underneath.

Cas has seen Dean's room, the room Dean hopes Cas will share with him. He hasn't actually said it, but the feeling and the thought's there, wired into the image. A secret message, almost. A message Cas held firmly in his head, keeping it safe.

Right now, Cas knew Dean was lying in bed, hands knitted behind his bed, closed eyes on the ceiling. He was talking to Cas, or rather praying since no one was answering. He spoke on and on about the things he found while exploring the Batcave, joy sitting behind his words. He was like a child, it was endearing.

Dean told Cas about the various weapons and ancient tools that were stashed around, some seemingly harmless and others giving a feeling of dread and pain by just looking at them. It was interesting exposure, to feel such a thing just by looking at an object.

Cas listened without interruption of his own thoughts, a slow smile growing on his lips. It almost seemed as if he could touch Dean, with how close he felt to him. He could feel their bond growing stronger, his feelings blossoming.

Instead of the usual ending, the _Please come home_, Dean said something different this time.

_"Cas, I know you're listening. Must be hard to ignore prayers, especially when you've got em' coming in so often. Sorry for that, I just miss you. Talking, or praying, and knowing you're listening just makes it easier, you know? _

_ "There's something I've wanted to say, it's a long time coming. I hope this doesn't change anything, I don't expect you to come running back. You left with that tablet for a reason and this shouldn't change that. I' m sorry you have to do that, by the way. Well, here goes._

_ "What I want to say is a little hard. Hell, it's weird to say out loud. In my head it feels fine and easy, but talking to you without seeing you and saying this doesn't feel natural. It's not something I should be telling the friggin walls around me. You should be here, but you're not so the walls will have to do. Anyways…."_ Cas can hear Dean taking a deep breath and letting it out quickly, the stress leaving his body with the air. _"I love you. There, I said and now you know. I friggin know nothing will change, I wish it did. I wish I could touch you, even if it's just to pull you in and welcome you home. But you need to know, I needed to tell you. So, please come home Cas, as soon as you can."_

The prayer was done, Dean's voice fading out slowly and the silence of the men's room filling Cas' head.

These were the words Cas' had been aching to hear for so long, and he finally did. He wanted to rush back to Dean and tell him he returned the feelings, that he wanted to stop running and make a home with Dean. Close Hell and fall. He'd cut himself off from Heaven for Dean, just to spend a human forever with him. He fully intends to do this, when this madness ceases. But now isn't the right time for anything, not even to check back in when Dean sleeps and whisper those three words in Dean's ear.

Frustration grew in Cas, tightening his chest and reddening his face. He wanted to hit something, a wall, a person, anything. It didn't matter. He wanted the anger and frustration and stress to be gone, leaving him as fluidly as it had come.

He wanted to take this damn, God forsaken tablet and do away with it more than ever before. This was what kept him anchored to the notion of running. It's what kept him away from Dean and Sam, happiness. It brought him nothing but grief. It was the bringer of all his woes. The minute it was gone he'd be whole again, he could stop running and he could go home. A place untouched by him but already felt so dear.

The first thing he'd do would be to grab Dean and kiss him hard, like the world was ending all over again. It may as well be, for all Cas knew. The world as he knew it was crumbing before him, burying him in its wreckage.


	20. Dean's Prayer

"Hey Cas," Dean began, laying on his bed in the room that was all his own. His hands were knitted behind his head, his closed eyes tilted toward the ceiling. "Busy day today. Okay, that was a lie. Me and Sammy did nothin' but hang around the Batcave. Sammy read up on a bunch of lore, the foreign stuff we weren't caught up on. I explored a bit, after making myself a burger. I'll make you one when you come back.

"I found some cool stuff, looked pretty damn old. Most of it seemed harmless, like trinkets or just religious items. Other shit looked damn right demonic. I felt like a dead man just lookin' at them. They'll probably come in use one day, though.

"You should see some of this stuff, man. It's really awesome, I think you'd be pretty interested. Hell, you've probably seen most of it but it's been such a damn long time. Or not. I don't know how time feels to you. All this time without you feels like another lifetime passing to me, but to you it must feel a coupla seconds."

Dean grew silent for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. He began thinking of what the bunker looked like, some of the objects in it, the rooms. Soon enough, his mind settled on his own room. _It'd be nice to bring you home here_ kind of feeling swept through Dean's mind and disappeared as soon as it came. He shook the images away and began trying to think of something else to say.

He feels as if this prayer is coming to a close, quickly, like they so often do. So he works up a bit of courage and prepares to say something he's wanted to say for a long while.

"Cas, I know you're listening. Must be hard to ignore prayers, especially when you've got em' coming in so often. Sorry for that, I just miss you. Talking, or praying, and knowing you're listening just makes it easier, you know?

"There's something I've wanted to say, it's a long time coming. I hope this doesn't change anything, I don't expect you to come running back. You left with that tablet for a reason and this shouldn't change that. I' m sorry you have to do that, by the way. Well, here goes.

"What I want to say is a little hard. Hell, it's weird to say out loud. In my head it feels fine and easy, but talking to you without seeing you and saying this doesn't feel natural. It's not something I should be telling the friggin walls around me. You should be here, but you're not so the walls will have to do. Anyways…." Dean takes a deep breath and lets it out quickly, the stress leaving his body with the air. "I love you. There, I said and now you know. I friggin know nothing will change, I wish it did. I wish I could touch you, even if it's just to pull you in and welcome you home. But you need to know, I needed to tell you. So, please come home Cas, as soon as you can."

_For me_ were the words left unspoken.


	21. Til The Next Life

_They both let their last breaths out at the same time, their bond intact to the very end. Both men, weary and old, hands clasped tightly, lay on the bed as if they were simply sleeping. The eyes behind the closed lids were dull, tainted by age and cataracts. One set was a swampy, dirty green and the other a watery, flat blue. They used to be vivid, filled with the life they had left behind and the ones they were reaching for. Now they were dead and slowly decaying._

_ Both bodies were found the next morning. No one came to the door when their twenty three year old grandson, Jude, knocked on it. They always came, whether it was night or day, and they always put away the rare frowns and plastered on a smile to reassure the young man._

_ Jude immediately called 911, not even hesitating so he could take a moment to grieve beforehand. He saved that for later, where he was alone in the bunker he claimed as his own. He called his father, Henry, shortly after the police and listened to his gasping sobs, unable to hang up the phone._

_ The only consolation was that the men went away together, refusing to leave the other behind. They've done it before and were hardly able to live through it._

Twenty three year old Dean Harrison was walking down the busy sidewalk on the morning of August 29, 2076, bumped and sloshed around by others, as he tried to make it down to campus on time for his first class of the morning, Theology. He took the class on a whim, it didn't seem all that interesting but he felt connected to the concepts of the class, like it was, or even is, important to him.

His brother, Samuel, was majoring in it. He wanted to be a lawyer at first, but he became entranced by the class and dropped the prospect of law. Dean was a little happy about that, he had an idea that lawyers were smug, superficial bastards. The way the dressed and acted, like they were high and holy. It pissed him off.

On the other end of the sidewalk walked Cas Novak, of the same age and school. He didn't know Dean, never even heard the name before. It was strange, seeing as how they had the same Theology class. Cas came from a bit of a religious family, more spiritual than anything, but his parents highly encouraged the class.

He had a younger brother of his own, Samandriel, named for the angel of imagination. He was still in high school, working at a fast food joint.

Cas was on his way back to his apartment, having forgotten his notebook. What was the point of going to class if he didn't have his notes? There was none, his attention would drift away from what his professor was saying and settle on random tid bits in his mind.

Both boys (had they become men yet?) walked towards each other, one foot in front of another. Both had bags slung over shoulders, looking past people as they made their way to their destination, accidently running into people as they walked. They both received a few muffled curses, but ignored them as their heavy footsteps hit the cement.

Dean was in a hurry to reach his classroom; he needed to talk to his professor before class began, an old and friendly Mr. Jude Winchester. He had a way with words and explanations, so Dean heard. There were some things he couldn't wrap his head around and others he got completely.

The two met in the middle, clashing into each other somewhat like children running into each other, forehead to forehead, on the playground. Cas fell on his ass, his book bag weighing him down even though a book and few papers escaped it. Dean stumbled a few steps before catching himself on the wall of the pizzeria next to him.

While both were muttering apologies, Dean leaned down and held out his hand for Cas to take, bright, grassland green eyes meeting heavenly, watercolor blue ones with a spark of brief recognition. They stared at each other for a moment before Cas reached his hand up, clasping Dean's heavily and lifting himself to his feet with Dean's help. The touch felt intimate, lit a spark both boys' chests, although it was ignored.

Dean grabbed Cas' stray papers as Cas grabbed his book, which held no evidence of the fall save for a scratched corner. Cas quickly shoved it back into his bag and thanked Dean, starting to move away with smile on his lips, his teeth biting his lower lip.

"Hey, where you going?" Dean asked shakily, not wanting to see the stranger go quite yet.

Cas stopped and turned around, still smiling, unable to shake the it.

"I've got to get my Theology notes from my apartment. I forgot them this morning and I tend to let my mind wander if I'm not focusing on the class work." Cas explained, his left hand hanging on the strap of his bag.

"Theology? I've got that class, going there now, trying to get in and talk to Mr. Winchester about a few things. If you're going back now, you might not make it back." Dean cautioned, his tooth worrying the inside of his lower lip.

"I'll take that risk, I need the notes." Cas said, turning away from Dean and walking a few steps.

"Wait!" Dean blurted out unexpectedly. He lay his hand flat against his mouth, eyes wide in surprise of his boldness.

Dean was good with other girls and guys, flirty and got to the point quick. This guy was different. He didn't know him and already he didn't want to see him go. The funny thing was he felt like he's spent a life time with him by his side. In some deep, strange and wonderful way, he felt as if he knew him.

"I've got my notes. You can use them with me during class. Maybe you could explain a few things for me in exchange?" Dean asked, covering up his outburst as he rubbed the nape of his neck, dark blonde hair tickling his knuckles.

"Really? Thanks, that'd be great. But I should warn you, I get the class but I'm not all that good at turning thoughts into words. I'll try though." Cas said, stepping toward Dean, giving him a grateful smile.

"All I can ask for." Dean said with a shrug. "I'm Dean Harrison, by the way." Dean added, thrusting his hand out in offering of a handshake.

"I'm Cas Novak." Cas replied, taking the hand and giving it a squeeze. They seemed to fit nicely, as if over time they've come to mold together even though they've never once touched before.

"Cas, short and to the point. We better get going, though." Dean says smoothly, releasing Cas' hand and moving forward, Cas close at his side. They gravitated toward each other, a positive and a negative magnet.

It wasn't uncomfortable, awkward or the least bit odd. It felt…natural, to say the least.


	22. Hereafter

He's old and graying. Weak body, stiff joints, poor eyesight, slow moving gait. He's not the man he once was; he's a shell of that great man. But that's not so bad. He doesn't need the strength or speed; he doesn't need the sharp eyesight to spot a shadow lingering in the corners. All he needs is to be able to make it around the house, read the words in front of him, see the faces on the screen, and the young face that sleeps next to him at night.

The young face that conceals the ageless being within.

Nothing has changed in it since Dean first laid eyes on it, no new scars, no height difference, and no decrease in muscle, of course there's no increase. Everything is the same, he's an impossible canvas. Castiel, the angel that never fell.

It bothers Dean, when they go out in public, that people think Cas is a grandson, son, nephew, what have you. Anything but the person he shares his bed, heart, and happiness with. The solution is they don't go out all that much, or at least Dean doesn't. Mostly because of his creaking joints and the pain in his hip, which seems to be there one minute and is gone the next.

Dean tells Cas to stop babying him, he doesn't need any angelic painkillers. He can take care of himself. Of course, Cas doesn't listen. He'll sneak it in when Dean's hurting most or when his attention is most diverted. He wants Dean's last years to be as pain free as possible, even if he doesn't want to acknowledge that they only have so many left.

He's been preparing himself for this for awhile now, building up the wall that'll protect him once Death takes the only person he's got left. It'll be quick and painful, but at least he'll see it coming.

And he does, within the week. Dean doesn't seem all that different, there's just something on his soul. A brand, beside the one that matches the one on his heart left by a cupid, that broadcasts the inevitable death of Dean Winchester. It's probably the most awaited death in history. Crowley would surely be celebrating if he were alive to hear the news.

Only when Dean's not looking does Cas frown, let a tear or so slip. Once he's in the dying man's line of sight again he pushes the sadness away and relishes in the moments they have left, although there's such a thing as life after death he has to look forward to.

On the night of August 29, 2043 Dean Winchester goes to sleep and never wakes up. Old age is what killed the former hunter, which is all Castiel can thank his Father for. It wasn't a demon or some other beast. It was simply his life catching up to him and silently lulling him to sleep.

There's a sound you hear when you die, it can be a combination of things or something smooth and simple. Dean heard his mother singing _Hey Jude, _overlaid with Cas telling him he loved him. Dean's personalized lullaby. Cas heard it, softer than Dean would have, and in that moment he knew he had lost him.

Dean didn't arrive into heaven alone, a weathered old man in his late sixties with a crick in his neck and an ache in his hip. He arrived there, a young and chiseled man in his thirties, with an angel in a raggedy trench coat reaching his hand out toward him, default blue eyes lively with happiness and hope. There was a song in those eyes, they were dancing to the beat that shook the angel's strange and complicated soul. They were what made Dean take those last few steps forward and encase the angel in a strong and warm embrace, ignoring the simple gesture of taking hands and walking through the gates hand in hand.

When you've spent the last critical years of your life weak and in bad shape, being unable to properly hold your loved one, the last thing you'd want is to take their hand like you did every night before slipping into sleep.


	23. Safe And Sound

While Dean and Cas live their own complex and beautifully intertwined lives, they never quite realized the people around them had lives as epic and wondrous as their own. They may not be saving the world twice a week or had fallen in love with a being that shouldn't really exist, but they have their own stories. Dean and Cas are just background noise.

They're the light that shuts off late at night and turns on early in the morn. They're the rushing stranger zooming past, chasing after someone or something unknown. They're the buzz of conversation heard all around. They are nothing more than extras, perhaps side characters, in the stories of the other people around them. These people don't know how important Dean and Cas, the angel and the hunter, really are.

The people in this world don't know they've been saved multiple times, over and over again, by the two men. They don't know the great sacrifices made to keep them safe. They know nothing of the men who risk their lives every day to keep disaster at bay.

Sam's a part of it too.

He's the whirlwind, the eye of the hurricane. He's a force to be reckoned with, yet he's also where you should go to feel safe. He's the man with a heavy burden, sadness in his heart, yet he'll do everything in his power to make sure you're alright, that you're out of harm's ever growing reach. There's softness in that sad heart, a little glowing ember of love and kindness that keeps him going, reminds him that what he does is worth it all.

It's worth the pain and heartbreak, broken bones and bruises, and even the loss he has, they've all, endured.

Keeping the world the way it was, safe and sound, was the reward in the tragedy of the Winchester life.


	24. Far, Far Away

Cas traveled. Every day he went to a new place, angel tablet hidden expertly in his coat. He didn't fly to his destination though, he took the long way. Through buses and cars, trains and even walking. He took a plane once, or maybe it was twice. It felt nice to be able to see other places as he went from destination to destination, seeing everything in middle as he never had before.

He began to see things in the right order, not jumbled and backwards, but straight forward, like it should be. It's something he never experienced before and something he wants to keep.

First, he went to Astoria, Oregon, the picturesque setting for all Hollywood small towns. It's right on the border of Washington State and is surrounded by all of Oregon's natural beauty. Dean and Sam went through there a few years back, about a year after the death of their father. They didn't work a case, just took a two day 'vacation' and admired the city's peace.

After staying a night there, Cas went onto Ocean City, Maryland. On a boardwalk laid out was carnival, which had stayed true to the concept of amusement parks by the sea. Ocean spray mingled in the air, along with the scent of cotton candy and the sound of families laughing and talking together.

When the boys were four and eight, John stopped through and took them along the boardwalk for the night. It was one of Dean's best childhood memories, one of the only ones where he felt like he had a normal, happy, childhood experience. Sam barely remembered it, but Dean had enough of the memory for the both of them.

Cas stopped through Deadwood, South Dakota, right in the Black Hills. It first became famous as a lawless town in the late 1800's, during the gold rush. It now thrives as a National Historic Landmark and a casino town.

When Sam turned eighteen Dean brought him through there, gambling and drinking all through the night. Although Sam didn't drink, he'd rather not spend the night in a jail cell on the first night of this adult life.

After that they drove down to Bobby's, where they crashed on his couch in the wee hours of the morn.

In Sandusky, Ohio Cas came to the Cedar Point Amusement park. He slipped through the gates and walked around the park, declining to go on any rides. Hearing the rush of the people calmed Cas' nerves, kept his mind off Dean.

Dean. Dean's eyes, his smile, the crinkle at the edge of his eye when he grinned. Dean, Dean, Dean.

And now he was gone, for now, at least.

When the boys were around eight and twelve, Bobby conned their way into the park and the spent the day there while John was on a particularly big hunt. Sam remembers this one; it was when he began to realize he wanted a life like this one. So normal, mundane. A life where he could forget about the monsters under the bed, in the closet, lurking in the shadows. A life like the one he could have had if Mary hadn't died.

All these places Dean talked about at one time or another, sharing his memories with Cas although he had been there for them. He watched silently, a stroke of the wind, as Dean lived.

Dean didn't talk too openly about them, usually when he had been drinking or was especially tired. Sometimes when he began to miss his father or Bobby he spoke of these intimate memories. Cas craved them, these stories, no matter how small. He may have seen Dean live, but he never felt it. He saw the joy and the laughter in the other man's eyes, but he wasn't sure what it meant. He didn't know what it felt like to live.

When Dean reminisced Cas could understand the emotions hiding in his eyes. He could hear them his voice, see them in his eyes and face, in the way he relaxed against the headboard or seat.

In these moments Cas felt closer to Dean than he ever had before.


	25. Hey Cas

_ Bodies, so many bodies, their stark black suits laid against the healthy grass was heartbreaking, the scores of scorched wings overlapped one another. It was an angel cemetery, a graveyard for the fallen soldiers. _

_ They were all put there by one man. _

_ You, it was all you. _

_ They died and it was all your fault. You couldn't control yourself, the souls inside you. The power rose to your head, took a hold of all the sense you possessed and disintegrated your heart. _

_ They say too much heart was always your problem, but this time it was the lack of it. _

_ You let the things inside take hold and remove all the good, human parts of the being you had become and hurt the world. You smote so many, took a large fraction of the world's lives, not all of them human._

_ Some of them were angels, your own brethren. You murdered them because they began to defy you, realized you weren't in your right head and tried to get way and stop you. You reacted with violence. _

_ This makes you no better than the monsters you fight to bring down, the murderers of both world, the natural and the hidden._

_ You fell, but you didn't pay for what you have done. Your wrongs haven't been righted._

_ And you will never be forgiven. _

Dean woke to the sound of ragged, deep breathing and a shivering, cold body next to his own. He heard gasps and chattering teeth, muttered words leaving the other man's mouth. He sat up and turned, seeing Cas shaking violently in his sleep. The pillow beneath his head was wet with tears.

"Cas?" Dean whispered, laying back down and shaking the other man slightly, trying to wake him without surprise. No response came, he was still asleep and shaking.

Dean laid there, his voice getting louder as he tried to wake Cas, gently shaking him. Still, Cas wouldn't wake. He was trapped by his nightmare.

Still, Dean persisted. His voice reached a shout, loud enough to wake Sam, who somehow stayed asleep. Dean wasn't suited for this, waking someone from their violet nightmares. He's never had to do it before, never had to care for someone like this.

So Dean stopped his shouting, his shaking, and gathered Cas in his arms. He held him close, tucking Cas' head under his chin. He rubbed his back for a moment before reaching his hand up to run his fingers through Cas' dark, matted hair.

"Hey Jude, don't make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better. Remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better." Dean began, his quiet voice off key. He kissed Cas' temple and went on.

"Hey Jude, don't be afraid. You were made to go out and get her. The minute you let her under your skin, then you begin to make it better." Dean could feel Cas' flow of tears begin to cease, but the shaking and shuddering breaths continued, and so did Dean.

"And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain, don't carry the world upon your shoulders. For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool by making his world a little colder." Dean's voice began to crack, wanting to ease Cas' pain but feeling as if he wasn't doing anything useful. This was all he knew how to do.

Cas' body began to relax, a spasm hit him every so often but he had calmed down a bit. Still, Dean sang.

"Hey Jude, don't let me down. You have found her, now go and get her. Remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better."

By now Cas was relaxed, his body limp with sleep and his breathing regulated. He seemed so vulnerable like this, curled up against Dean. It was a side he didn't let anyone but Dean see. Usually, Cas was strong and rigid, fazed by little. The only thing that really go to him was family, whether they were being harmed or were safe and smiling. They were what got into his heart.

"So let it out and let it in, hey Jude, begin, you're waiting for someone to perform with. And don't you know that it's just you, hey Jude, you'll do, the movement you need is on your shoulder." Dean continued the song, feelings unable to stop now. While pressing another kiss to Cas' temple between the verse and the last, Dean whispered muffled _I love you _'s into Cas hair.

"Hey Jude, don't make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better. Remember to let her under your skin, then you'll begin to make it better, better, better, better, better, better, oh." Dean sang the last verse, his off key voice trailing off at the end.

Holding Cas closer, Dean closed his eyes and went back to sleep, using Cas' soft breathing as his own lullaby.


	26. Last Words

**Before I started this chapter, I wanted to take a moment and thank all my lovely reviewers. You guys make me feel so proud with my work, no matter how short or how crappy of a chapter it is. So thank you so, so much for all the continued support!**

The cancer came as a surprise to two of the three men. It was so strange, something as mundane, normal, as cancer would be the one to kill Dean Winchester. He's been fighting off monsters nearly his whole life and he'd been lucky enough to escape their clutches, so maybe it was right that something so simple and ordinary would do away with Dean.

It'd been a few months since Dean was diagnosed, months in which neither Dean or Cas had taken the opportunity to tell how they felt about one another, and Dean was looking worse for wear. He was slowly deteriorating, slipping away.

Today, it seemed, would be the day Dean would die, this time for good. He made Cas promise not to bring him back, just like he made him promise he wouldn't cure him. Dean was tired of this endless game of living and dying. He started to take it for granted; he just wanted to be done.

Sam was eating in the cafeteria, once the end started to near he couldn't bear to see Dean like this, the shell of the man he once was.

Cas was sitting on a white folding chair, up close by Dean's hospital bed. He was watching Dean sleep. Not in the creepy, Twilight kind of way but in the kind of checking to see if Dean was still breathing way.

He was, just to let you know.

Dean's hand lay open on the bed, his fingers curled slightly inward. Cas looked behind him, at the door, and tentatively reached his own hand forward and took Dean's, their hands fitting like puzzle pieces. Subconsciously, Castiel began smoothing his thumb over the skin between Dean's thumb and forefinger. Dean began to stir, the light touch proving to be enough to wake him.

"Cas?" Dean asked, his voice hoarse, as he opened his eyes slowly. He blinked away the harsh light that invaded his eyes, moving his free hand to cover them.

"Good afternoon, Dean." Cas replied, a watery smile spreading onto his face. He didn't let go of Dean's hand and Dean didn't shake it off.

"I can feel him coming for me." Dean croaked out, looking up at Cas with those dying, watery green eyes.

"Who?" Cas asked, tilting his head to the side in that familiar gesture.

"Death. He's coming and I'm waiting." Dean explained, keeping his eyes locked with Cas'. "Since he's… comin' so soon…there's something I…gotta tell you." Dean added, coughing after he finished the sentence.

"What would that be?" Cas asked, scooting the folding chair as close as it would go, without letting Dean's hand go.

"Get off the chair…and lay down next to me and…I'll tell ya." Dean ordered, slowly scooting over to make room.

Cas nodded, although a bit hesitant, and got up from the chair, still clasping Dean's chilling hand, and laid down next to him, getting as comfortable as possible. He tucked one arm under Dean, holding onto him as he rested his head on his shoulder. Neither of the men thought anything of the way they were laying. They didn't say anything for a moment, either.

"This is a long time coming. Should've said something…sooner. Now all we've got left is today." Dean began, tightening his grip on Cas' hand.

"I love you. There… I said it now. Should have said it…a few months ago….when I was healthy." Dean said, his eyes watering at the corners. "Hell, even before that." He added after a moment.

"You're wrong." Cas said, looking up at Dean as a tear rolled down his cheek.

"What do ya mean?" Dean asked, his brow wrinkled, his eyes confused.

"We've got longer than today. We've got every day for…forever, I guess you would say. I'm not saying this is in a way to convince you to let me heal you or bring you back, either. I'm saying I'll follow wherever death shall take you." Cas explained smoothly, softly as he listened to Dean's shallow breathing.

"You can't follow me, Cas. You gotta stay…for Sam." Dean replied, turning slightly to look down at Cas.

"He'll be fine, he can take care of himself. Let him grow, give him room to breathe. He can finally have the life he wants, he can fall in love again, have kids and die of an extremely old age because of a heart attack."

"Do you know that for sure?" Dean choked out, his voiced filled with blatant hope.

"I know just as I knew all along how you would end before I even laid a hand on you." Cas replied mournfully, ashamed of knowing all this time how Dean would go, when and where. He just didn't know of the minutes before Dean went, where he let his heart out of its cage.

"That's good enough for me, I guess."

Dean leaned down slowly and with difficulty, Cas could hear his bones wheezing and creaking, and kissed Cas softly on his own lips, his chilly hand gripping Cas' with a lost strength. He pulled his lips away, taking his last breath, and laid back down on the pillow as his blood began to run cold.

The monitors all began beeping and whirring, strange sounds coming out of each and every one of them. Cas knew it was his time to leave. He had a new soul to guide into Heaven.


	27. The Constants

Dean had never been attracted to people like Castiel before: creatures straight out of folk tales, has an asshole sass about them, rigid and stuck up, dressing like God's personal tax accountant every damn day, male. These are just a few of Cas' traits that Dean had never even thought about before, never looked twice at anyone fitting any of those, especially the creature one. Personally, Dean's never wanted to fuck a demon or anything of the sort. He went for women with big breasts, a wide grin that promised a good time, a glaze to their walled up eyes, _human_. Never before had he wanted to be with someone like Cas, and not just for an energetic night, but till the day he died.

Cas wasn't like anyone else, though. It's not just because he's burning with fiery angelic passion. He's strong in will and heart, he speaks with either a soft lilt or a raging harshness (which Dean finds crazily sexy), and his head may not always be in it, but he does what he does with good intentions. He cares without asking for anything in return, although he may get angry when he's being taken advantage, which Dean knows he's done far too much. Cas doesn't hold grudges for long either, he's learned there's no point in wasting away your life thinking of harming someone in the future when he could be living in the here and now, letting his heart consume him like it always has.

He knows life is too short to waste it, which is a concept Dean is slowly beginning to understand.

In Dean's perspective, Cas is this unmatchable being with a caring soul as vast as the oceans. No one else sees this, which is okay. They have their own lives, their own loves. Everyone thinks their love is more remarkable, more beautiful, than the next. In fact, they're all just normal loves but combine them together and you've got an unbeatable force. I'm getting off topic.

This story isn't about the other loves swarming through the world; it's about Cas and Dean, them and only them. It's about the way they wake up in the morning and smile, blinking away the remains of sleep, because they woke up next to each other. It's about the way Dean sings Cas _Hey Jude_ at the end of a rough day to ease both of their stress. It's about the way Cas reassures Dean that he's worth it all, the pain, the death, the destruction. It's about the way they care for only each other.

All his life, Dean had been expecting to die young without having felt what it's like to have a love like Sam and his father had. He thought he'd be getting his satisfaction off one night stands in far off towns, drifting from one warm body to the next. Now he wakes to the same warm body, the one he knows every wrinkle and scar to, every morning. It's a feeling he never thought he wanted because he never knew what it felt like. Now that he does, he'll have a hard time letting it go, should the day ever come.

Days fade into the next, new struggles coming with each one, but the one sure thing, the one fact of life, will be Cas' body next to Dean's, his soft breathing echoing in their little room. His hair would be curling from sweat, his body a bit cold or warm, depending on the weather. The same cranky attitude that starts every day that roots from the chore of waking up. These are the constants, these are the treasures of life, their fruit.


	28. The Things We Forgot

Sitting in the living room, the little family of four (two fathers, an uncle and a little daughter) was listening to the old 80's rock station while the little girl, Deanna Zara Winchester, and her uncle Sam played an intense game of Chutes and Ladders, a game that took her father Dean months of scouring antique and thrift shops to find. Of course, there were newer versions of the game but nothing was better than the classics.

Deanna was winning, like she had so many times before. Sam hadn't moved a muscle to help her or let her win; she was doing it by sheer skill, which was pretty good for a child of five. She was smart, cunning, like the rest of her family. So far, she had the brains of the Winchesters. Maybe she'd inherit the brawn of the Campbell's.

Castiel, Deanna's other father, had a cherry pie in the oven. She could smell it, waiting for it to be done. She had gained Dean's love of pie. She preferred it over anything else and she liked Cas' the best.

After beating Sam once again, Deanna's unimaginably green eyes shown with joy. She clapped her small hands together, grinning broadly at both of her parents. They both smiled back, making their little Deanna smile brighter.

Dean's arm was slung over Cas's shoulders, Cas' hand finding Dean's. After watching Sam and Deanna play yet another round, Cas got up to check on the pie. Seeing it was done, he removed it from the oven, turning it off once the pie was out, and let it cool on the counter top.

On the way back to the living room, his ears perked up as Deanna said, "Uncle Sam, you're my favorite uncle." In her sweet voice. He thought nothing of it, except little thoughts of his own brothers, now fleeting memories, filling little gaps in his head.

He brushed the ghosts of Gabriel, Michael, Raphael, Lucifer and Balthazar away, suppressing his delayed grief. He hadn't thought about them in so long…

Sam's laughter broke him from his reverie, his words bringing him back.

"I'm your only uncle." Sam said. Cas could nearly see the smile on Sam's face as he walked the remaining feet into the living room, where Dean sat motionless on the couch, his eyes wide and frozen. It seemed as if he had stopped breathing, but Cas could see a small rise and fall of his chest.

Sam and Deanna hadn't noticed anything; they were starting up another game. How Sam hadn't gotten his fill yet, Cas would never know.

"Dean? Are you okay?" Cas asked, taking his seat next to his husband and taking his hand. Finally, Dean blinked, his face thawing out. He shook his head, a look of guilt crossing his face. Cas hadn't seen a look like that in a long time.

"We forgot Adam." Dean said after another moment's silence, a muffled curse leaving his mouth afterward.


	29. You Are What You Love

Dean lay in bed one night, a very important night as it was. It was the night before his wedding, an event Dean never thought relatively possible. Was he really getting this, or was it all just a fantastical dream? Was a Djinn feasting on his happiness? That could be a possibility, but if that were the case Mary would be here. No matter what, Mary would be a part of Dean's happy place.

So this was real, he was going to be standing at the altar tomorrow at two thirty, staring into Cas' eyes, waiting to say those two precious words. He'd be vowing, smiling, wanting nothing more than to be bound to Cas properly, like Cas had wanted, under the eyes of his Father.

Thinking for awhile, Dean began to wonder what made him so special. Cas could have anyone he wanted, yet he chose Dean. Compared to some, Dean was nothing special. Others had tons of family, lots of money, and no battle scars that woke them from nightmares here and there. Dean was Dean.

He loved cars and music, leather and plaid. Many of the people who loved him were gone, there was hardly anyone to prove that Dean was worth keeping around. There was Sam, but he'd prove anything to make Dean happy. There was Charlie, but she was hopping around so often that Dean never knew where she was. Except tomorrow, he knew where she'd be tomorrow.

Maybe Cas loved him because it's the things Dean loved that make him up, not the people who loved him. You are what you love, not who loves you.

Dean loved pie and rain, when he wasn't standing in it. He loved diner burgers and late nights, staring up into the sky after a long day on the hood of the Impala. There were so many other things, like saving people. Dean's rank in Charlie's nightmare proved that, although he didn't quite realize it. He was an army doctor, not some grunt on the front lines getting himself killed. He was the one stitching people up and helping them hold on till the next sunrise.

Movies, Dean loved movies also. Tolkien and Vonnegut, he loved their books. The Impala, Dean loved his baby. His childhood resided in that car, carefully engraved into every seam. All three Winchester's (okay, two Winchester's and one soon to be Winchester) initials were scratched into the left hand, backseat door of her.

Beer, that wasn't something Dean necessarily loved but it was something that eased the pain of loving something. It was love's Advil.

What else? Nesting, having a home for the first time in his life. A place where he can come back to after every hunt, a place like Bobby had. He had a permanent home and not just a new motel every week. He could wake up in the same bed till the day he died, cook in the same kitchen, and fall asleep on the same couch, read in the same library. It could almost be compared to a fixed point in time. Dean finally had that, something fixed and immovable in his life. And he loved it.

There was Sam, whom he learned so much from. How to get over an addiction and not let it consume you, recover. After the demon blood with Sam, Dean began drinking less and less. He also learned how to let go from Sam, how to recover from loss. Another thing Sam taught him was that it's okay to not be the way your parents want you to be. You can do the same things, but for all different reasons. You could love a type of person they'd never in a million years would, even go as far as threatening those who did.

Sam also taught him that everyone has good in them, even when they think they're rooted in evil. Dean may have character flaws, but those don't define him. He is what he loves, not his mistakes.

And lastly, there's Cas, the most important love of all. He showed Dean that being different and even a bit awkward at time is okay. It's perfectly fine to be different. Loving him showed Dean that not everything is as you'd expect it, but that doesn't make it a bad thing. It can be good, even better than originally thought. Like losing Cas time after time, because each time Cas came back a new promise was made and it was never broken, all the way till the last time, when Cas promised he'd never leave again. And he hasn't.

Mostly, it's the way Cas makes him feel that Dean cares about. Screw the lessons he was taught, it's the way his breath hitches when Cas touches him a certain way, whether it's cupping Dean's cheek in his hand or something else. Whenever Cas laughs, especially if Dean's the one who caused it, he feel his chest warmth. Hell, that happens every time Dean lays his eyes on the fallen angel.

There's that, too. Cas fell to spend a long and human life with Dean, who never asked or brought it up. Of course the aftermath of the fall was bad for while, but everyone got through it okay. It's the thought that someone would give up the most basic and lasting part of them to be with him that makes Dean nearly combust. Cas loves him enough to give up who he is just to do something as small as growing old with him. In the long run, maybe it's not that small. Being able to change and mold alongside someone, at the same rate, must feel pretty damn nice.

That night, instead of falling asleep with worries littering his head, Dean fell asleep with a final sense of peace that removed all worry and gave him the assurance that he was worth it after all; he was a pretty good guy. A guy loved by many, although it didn't matter how many people loved him. It was the things Dean loved that made him special, that little flake of gold in a stack of coal.

Dean loved Cas. That was all that really mattered, isn't it?


	30. All This Time

**A/N:** The next few chapters will have some sort of continuity. This last episode has given me a crap ton of inspiration.

All this time, through all of time and creation, Castiel has rebelled in one way or another. And when that happens, his slate is wiped clean. He knows nothing, he is nothing, essentially. He doesn't remember clever remarks or green eyes, not a thing.

Every time he rebelled, a certain green eyed, freckled man was at its core. All different variations of Dean throughout time, carrying the same face and soul, the same attitude and fighting spirit. Same man, different name.

Castiel knew Dean as the arrogant son of a devastated king, brother to an ill boy. Castiel saw him grow to become the much loved and respected king known through history. Essentially, they were Merlin and King Arthur, although over time the tales were warped.

Dean was also known as a man, a poor shepherd, living in Egypt. He was a strange sight; he didn't look like the other from that region. But he was a fighter, he fought the angels when they murdered the eldest sons of a family that didn't have lamb's blood painted over their doors. He stood tall and tried to hold the angels back, but he wasn't able to succeed. He can't say everyone, after all.

The Righteous man has been rich, poor, blind and deaf. There have been times in his many lives where he started out arrogant and foolhardy, but he always turned into the man he is today. Which is a fighter, a supporter of the good in the world. He always ended his life with the same values and morals, a set as tough as steel.

Never in any of Dean's lives has he not known about the other worldly, or even Castiel. He's always met him, the Great Continuity. Neither of them are ever able to remember, but there's always something pulling them together, they're like magnets. Every time they come together there's no pulling them apart.

Once he was fully rid of Naomi's spell, Castiel began to remember. Little things, scenes from his forgotten past, like watching the waterfront, a flash of a toothy grin or sun flecked green eyes.

He told Dean, once full lives came back to him. When he remembered all the lives he lost, each one filled with moments and moments of Dean.

"How come you didn't tell me before? We've fallen in love over and over and you didn't think it was important to mention?" Dean asked. He almost sounded angry, but it was a disguise. He was hurt.

"I didn't remember them, Dean. I didn't remember any of the other times I loved you, they just recently started to come back." Castiel explained as calmly as he could.

"Then why not tell me of the lives where we didn't fall in love?" Dean asked, his eyes wide and questioning, staring right into Castiel. He was leaning against the counter, frozen, as if making a single move would shatter everything.

"There's has never been a life where we've met, every one of your lives, when we didn't fall in love."

"Every single life?" Dean asked, startled.

"Yes, times with medieval knights who slew dragons, times where God was man's biggest fear. Even in the 1940's and so forth when homophobia was as common as a cold. We've always found each other, and I have always rebelled. It was you, always at the center of it. I did it all for you." Cas explained, softening as the memories filtered through. Dean was always the same in every life, although he had different beginnings. He led a different kind of life, but he always became the same man.

"Naomi's been mind fucking you this whole time? Through everything, she still hasn't given up. She's still got this idea that she'll be able to control you one day?" Dean asked, scoffing at Naomi's ideals. She really thought she'd be able to do it. How many millennia have gone by? If she couldn't control him then, what makes her think she can now?

"I don't intend to understand her, I don't think I'd be able to. She's complex, has a one track mind. Maybe once I did understand her and know her ideals, but that is now gone." Cas replied, looking away from Dean. "Can we please stop talking about her? She's just a distant memory now, she can't hurt us." Cas said softly, his normally gruff voice gone flat.

"Yeah, sure we can." Dean said and began walking up and down the room, hands in his pockets. "Hey, in all those lives, did I looked the same? I was the same guy for the most part, just living with a different name and time?" Dean asked, quickly glancing at Castiel for confirmation.

"That is true."

"What about you? Did you use Jimmy throughout history? If I was reincarnated, wasn't he, too?" Dean asked. "And about that reincarnation crap. How does it work? You said I lived all these lives, but I've gone to all four corners, I've died! How did I not get reincarnated again?" He added.

"First of all, I did use all of Jimmy's variants. He's my true vessel, it's in his lineage. We've always known each other by the bodies we use now. Secondly, a piece of you goes to Heaven, or Hell, when you die, the piece that lived the life of the man who died. So, the ancient prince you once were is living in his own heaven, resting in his mother's garden. The shepherd is enjoying a starlit night in a pasture. All of you, every piece you ever were, is living up there in his own heaven. Once you die for the final time, you will all come together and be one man, reclaiming all your lost lives and memories. And to answer how you didn't get reincarnated again, there's always time that goes by before you're born again. You don't die and immediately come back." Castiel explained patiently, watching Dean's face for reactions. He caught a few things here and there, but Dean didn't let much by.

"That'll be a good day, won't it? The last time I die I'll be able to remember everything I ever was, everything we have ever been, just like you." Dean said gently, his face betraying a look of longing and desperation. He wanted those memories now. He's lived long enough, screwed up as much shit as he could in each life. When will he finally be able to rest?

"I suppose it will be. You'll remember each childhood, every instance with your mother or Sam, of course he was given different names just as you were. All the things you lost in this life, you'll get back."

"Wait, Sammy's been my brother before?"

"You may lose your past and your name, but you never lose your bonds. John was always your father, just like Mary has always been your mother. Bobby and the others have been like family throughout your existence, just like Sam and Adam have always been your brothers, although your relationship with Adam fluctuates throughout time. As always, you're close to Sam but with Adam it depends on the time and the circumstance."

"I've got so many questions about that, but I just can't think of them right now." Dean laughed, rubbing the back of his neck was he came back to stand by Castiel, the stiffness from his posture gone.

"It doesn't always make sense, this system. Sometimes even I can't keep track of what is what." Castiel says. He turns his head away from Dean and stares at the photograph.

After they were silent for awhile, Dean spoke up and asked Castiel to tell him about some of their lives together. He always asked about the last thing he remembered from each one, or something he tried to hold onto. Castiel lied to him, telling him it was a word or a phrase, sometimes a past memory.

What he really held onto was green, gold flecked eyes. He always told himself that if he held onto those, that if they were the last thing he saw or thought about, he'd recognize Dean again when time had passed and they were once again united. He wasn't wrong. Those eyes were the first thing in Dean he recognized before he clamped his hand on Dean's left shoulder and rose from Hell. Those eyes told him he was in for something great.


	31. The Great Continuity

_**A/N: **__Doron (pronounced DOR-_en_) Israeli and Hebrew origin and it means dweller; gift. _

When Castiel rebelled, it wasn't full scale rebellions of Lucifer proportions, like he's done in Dean's latest lifetime. He just simply found loopholes and disregarded direct orders. He had too much heart, it's always been a problem for the others. He saved and gave, did what was right even if it went against the laws he'd been told.

One particular time was in Egypt, Dean's first life, so many years ago in humanities agenda. In the life of an angel though, it barely seemed like any time at all had passed.

Castiel stood, wearing an earlier reincarnation of Jimmy, in the dark. He looked down the little alley of ramshackle homes, lamb's blood painted over some doors. Others were left bare.

Crying, it was so quiet Castiel was barely sure he had heard it. It was more sniffles and shallow breaths, it was still sad to hear, this little sound in of itself.

Walking farther down, Castiel listened closer for the sound. Finally, he heard it again, just a few doors down. There was no lamb's blood painted above the door, the eldest child would die tonight.

Why must he die tonight? Can't he live further, die of old age or some disease and not the wrath of God? He was not an Israelite, and yet somehow this family found word of the plague. Wouldn't they have painted their door tonight, then? Try as they must, they could have fooled God and every other angel on Earth's soil this night.

The child must have asked for this, to die and spare his family punishment, if there would be any. He shouldn't have to do this, sacrifice life for love.

So gently, Castiel rapped on the door. Silence swept through the house for a moment.

"Go away! You can't have him!" a woman screamed in a foreign tongue, foreign now at least.

"_Elizabeth._" A man hissed, his voice hard and stern. Castiel could detect the fear behind it, though.

Without further word, Castiel pushed the light door open and saw a family of four, huddled close together, on a dirty floor. A woman with uncharacteristically light hair for the region sat close to her dark haired husband, clutching a green eyed man, only just barely, to her breast. He seemed to be the same age as Castiel's vessel, seventeen. He didn't look scared, in fact he seemed as if he were daring Castiel to take him. He was filled with just anger.

He was obviously the strongest one in the family, his brother was still small, thirteen years old, and his father looked ailing and weak. It showed as clear as his fright. Yet he still held is head high. How strange.

"I am Castiel, an angel of the Lord." Castiel introduced himself, staying by the door.

"You can't take him, please." The mother, Elizabeth, begged, tears running trails down her cheeks. Dirt and grime was being washed away, although only a subtle difference was made.

"I have come to help, not harm." Castiel clarified. He looked around the little room and saw a knife lying on a table, a bucket in the corner of the room. He retrieved them both, the family watching him with both fear and awe.

Castiel resumed his spot at the front of the room, this time sitting. He held the bucked in his lap, holding his arm above it. He cut it then, letting his blessed blood run into it. It took a bit of time, the bucket filling enough to paint a thick stripe above the door.

"What is that for?" Elizabeth asked, her eyes wide, her voice shaky.

"It'll serve as good a purpose as lamb's blood." Castiel replied as he stood from the dirty floor. He went out of the house and into the quickly darkening night, dipping his hand into the blood filled bucket. Taking out a sufficient amount, he painted a stripe above the door. It was thin, so he painted till it had become thick enough.

When he was pleased with his work, he went back into the little home and informed Elizabeth that the job had been done, her son was spared.

"Stay in the home till daybreak, you may then come and go as you please." He added before he left, vanishing with the distinct sound of fluttering wings.

Castiel came back a week later. He didn't quite know why, he was drawn to the dilapidated home. The head of house was sleeping heavily in another room, the youngest boy outside somewhere and Elizabeth visiting family. The only conscious household member was the green eyed boy.

He was standing outside, as if expecting Castiel.

"I knew you'd return." He said as Castile approached. He wasn't looking at him, rather at the noon sun. He was squinting away sunlight, leaning against the family home.

Ignoring his statement, Castiel asked, "What's your name?"

"Doron." He replied after a moment, as if deciding if he should lie or not. Of course, Castiel already knew his name he just wanted to know if Doron trusted him.

"How did you know I'd come back?" Castiel asked, stepping closer. He was still a few feet away.

"I'm not sure, I just knew. People just don't save others from certain death and never see them again." Doron explained, although with a hint of uncertainty.

"That's my line of work, creating little miracles and never returning to see the outcome."

"It's a bad line of work, being an angel. Does it make a difference that you can't feel?" Doron asked, pushing off his home and standing upright.

"I don't understand."

"You murder my people with no second thought. Does that make your existence better?" Doron clarified.

"I saved you. You didn't deserve your punishment. It was handed down simply because of your blood."

"How many more lives did you save, then? How many more were taken?"

"None on both sides. This alley was my charge and after saving you, making sure you'd be protected, I left. Maybe one of my brothers or sisters picked up where I left off, but your fate was the only one I mingled with." Castiel answered honestly, his hard blue eyes staring into Doron's green ones.

"What made me so special?"

"If you asked me this on the night of the tenth plague, I wouldn't have been able to answer truthfully. I might have said instinct. That would have been a lie; I believe it was your soul. It's righteous and clean."

"I'm not clean. I've done and see things unnatural, things no one else knows about. They hear stories and tales, but if you speak as if you've seen one, they shun you." Doron argued, his voice tense, his body now rigid.

"I know this, but you protect life. You hurt the creatures of the dark to give the ones of light a chance." Castiel replied. He moved closer to Doron and took his hand, leading him into his home to better discuss there.

He explained seeing a fiery light in Doron that he had never seen before, a light that had to be preserved. Maybe he was being selfish, but at the time Castiel didn't know. He only knew he couldn't let this soul burn out.

They talked and they talked, long into the day until Castiel decided it was time to leave. But he didn't stay gone, he kept coming back. He avoided his brothers and sisters at all corners, but he always came back to Doron.

As time went on, Castiel seemed to disappear altogether from his family. Doron consumed all his time and energy. His family didn't mind, Elizabeth was too grateful for Castiel. Abraham, Doron's father, was too ill to do anything other than groan out in pain and sleep. Saul, Doron's brother, saw some sort of bond was forming. He didn't want to ruin that for his brother.

Doron was hard on himself, believed he was filled to the core with sin. He didn't think he deserved God's love, that's why he stopped his mother from painting the strip of lamb's blood above their door. He thought it was his punishment, maybe even responsibility, to die.

Castiel spoke with him, eased his self hatred and made him feel as if he wasn't just another piece of trash waiting to be disposed of. He did good for the world. Doron was an earlier version of the hunter, mostly staying in his region. Demons were his specialty.

After some months of sharing time together, both came to realize certain feelings. They admitted them after another few more months, even told Elizabeth about it.

This was a time where this sort of thing just didn't happen. If it did, the parties involved were stoned or killed, heavily abused with wounds and words. Elizabeth took acceptance, though. She understood that even though Castiel wore a man's body, he was neither man nor woman. He was a fantastical entity created for salvation. She accepted them.

When these months came along, Abraham was too far gone to understand anything being said to him. Everyone just left him in his own dark corner.

One night, about a year or so after the tenth plague, Castiel was visited. Naomi came to him, using harsh and dirty words. She spat out cold truths and used woven lies against Castiel, to her own advantage. She told him to drop the human, save him from a life of pain and ridicule. Castiel knew he was being selfish, but he just didn't care.

He threatened to fall.

At this point, Naomi was desperate. Desperate and so easily read that Castiel knew what was coming before it even happened.

Doron died of disease three weeks after the visit. He suffered greatly, but somehow holding onto Castiel's hand during the ordeal gave him enough strength to hold on longer than thought. Castiel tried to cure him and revive him, but nothing worked. His soul was already marked for death.

After the burial, Castiel left Israel.

He didn't last long out in the world by himself. Naomi found him eventually and told him the circumstances. He'd have to be cleansed so nothing like this would happen again. No small act of kindness, no love. Just Castiel as the blind follower.

Before Naomi took his cherished memories, Castiel held onto the image of lively green eyes in his head. He had the idea that if he held onto them, he'd be able to find Doron in the next life, recognizing those summer eyes and feel somewhere deep inside him that this righteous man was important.

This was the life that started the eternity long love affair, the Great Continuity. It was a starting point and they were reaching their ending.


	32. Angel In The Grasslands

**A/N: **_Sean (pronounced Shon) Irish and Hebrew origin, it means God is gracious. _

**Ireland, 1940's**

Sean stood outside his family's little stone cottage, where he lived alone. His family was long dead, he was all that was left. Sean's mother died giving birth to his younger brother, Declan, when he was four. When he was seventeen, his father, step mother and two brothers, Declan and Aengus, were killed in an automobile accident. He was at a neighbor's house at the time.

The cottage had a view of the sea, over Ireland's rocky cliff face. The home was isolated from others; there wasn't a neighbor for another five or so miles. It was nice, no prying eyes, just Sean and the smell of the salty sea below along with the rolling bright green grassland. It was a comfort, reminded him of old folk songs his mother sang to him before she died. She had a voice even the angels would envy.

From up here, Sean felt close to heaven. It almost felt as if he reached up as high as he could, stood on the tips of his toes, he'd be able to touch the soft, downy wing of an angel. Heaven was up there, that much was known. Sean just wasn't sure if he was welcome.

He wasn't the best guy, he had his faults. He fought tooth and nail, drank when alcohol was available, and used to sleep around too much. He was also a murderer, in a sense of sorts. He was a hunter, like his father and grandfather before him. There were things out there, things that really shouldn't exist but did. They hurt and killed, ripped bonds at the seams. When Sean ended the life of these things, he felt dirty. These monsters were once people, people who loved and were loved.

Their humanity and tickets to heaven were revoked, they were forced into Purgatory when they died. Never again would they be able to see the ones they cared for most, unless they too were monsters. Sean still had humanity and his ticket, but what if he died and arrived at those glistening gates and wasn't welcome, what then? Would an angel lead him down into the pit of hell and bid him farewell? Sean didn't know, nor did he want to.

If that was to happen, Sean didn't want it to be his angel.

The sky was graying quickly, it'd be dark soon. He should probably go inside about now, but it was so calming out here with the sounds of crashing waves and the dim lighting. In the cottage, it was lonely. He was all alone, for now at least. Sean had no idea when his angel would come back to him.

He was always off doing errand of some sort, it at least seemed as if he were always gone. One thing Sean was sure of was that he was never lonely when his angel did decide to stick around. When he was home, he was home for months. When he was gone, it was simply weeks, sometimes not even that. That short time of loneliness, though, seemed to battle away the bliss of being together.

They met when Sean was eighteen, ten years ago. He had still been recovering from the death of his family while going around the country and hunting. It kept his mind off of it, the pains and the emotions demanding to be felt. Killing creatures was the only thing that kept the pain away. Sean didn't have to think about the accident, didn't have to remember when the police came to his elderly neighbor's home and called for Sean. He didn't have to think about the sting in his heart and the weakness in his knees when those first words, "_I'm sorry to inform you…_" left the officers mouth.

Anyhow, Castiel was making miracles, none to discreetly. Little acts of a rebel, he had told Sean. He wasn't quite doing it to rebel; he just wanted to do what was right. Heal and pass on the love of his father.

Sean was suspicious, that's how he was raised. Always question the unexplainable. Jump to conclusions, but not with haste. Be rational, but be ready. So he was. He tracked down Castiel, loaded with salt and silver, holy water and other such items. He used them all against the angel. Nothing happened. When Sean said _christo_ Castiel almost looked pleased to hear the name. It confused him further.

He was no healer granted with some awesome power, he was no ordinary creature either. Sean was curious. Although instead of poking and prodding, testing other weapons on Castiel, Sean just sat down with him and asked. It was something he was taught not to do. He was letting his guard down, but he trusted Castiel, deep down somewhere. The angel made him feel comfortable, safe.

Castiel was happy to share with him; he was very open with the whole ordeal. At first, Sean didn't really believe it. It was so…different. Angels he had heard of, new they existed, but never had he met one before. He hadn't heard of anyone seeing an angel.

Sean had then welcomed Castiel into his home. It was an impulsive act, he was just so lonely. He finally found someone with whom he could openly talk and feel unafraid. Castiel was there for Sean, just as he would always be there for Castiel.

The angel had his own problems and fears, worrying about rumors of his fleeing father and a being, whether she was an angel or not was unknown, higher than he, which was something great because Castiel was a Seraph, a commanding officer in his garrison. She used fear to control much of heaven; she lied to get her way. She was very manipulative, and still very good at it. At times she made you feel safe, like you were following orders well enough and no punishment would come to you. Other times she made it seem as if you were her prime target. Naomi, this manipulative creature, had no luck in finding her disobedient little angel.

No one knew about Castiel, that he lived with and loved Sean. They didn't go out much and when they did they made sure to keep their distance. The community was hard on people like them. Sean didn't want to go out into town, holding Castiel hand one minute, black out the next, and wake up in the hospital with a ruptured lung. Men and women had been killed for this sort of thing before.

Sean didn't want to think about that now, he just wanted to sit out here in the dwindling light and watch the sea. It held the same color as Castiel's eyes, startling and unimaginably blue. They were like watercolors, thinned out and pure. If he was to be honest, Sean believed Castiel's eyes were made from the sea, forged and placed unto his vessel with the knowledge an angel would look through them.

The soft, distinct sound of fluttering wings woke Sean from his reverie. Turning, he saw Castiel by the doorway to their little haven. He was smiling, although a little distraught. His shoulders were tense, his back straight. He looked like he was morphing into the straight backed soldier he had been. Maybe he was just on edge.

"Are you okay?" Sean asked, his eyebrow creasing with worry. Castiel relaxed a bit and gave a small smile, nodding to Sean as he did so.

"I am doing well. I've eluded Naomi thus far, she believes I'm in the Northern region of America, near Canada. She's got more of my brothers and sisters after me. I'm lucky I've got many allies." Castiel said, his voice heavy with relief.

His shoulders began to sag a bit, his back relaxing. He walked over to Sean, grabbed him by the wrist and led him into the living room.

All was well for a little while.

It wasn't too long later, maybe a month or two, when Castiel came home in a frantic rush. He had a look of pure terror on his face, eyes wide with panic. He was rushing throughout the house, mumbling to himself, yanking on his hair. His seemed to be having a panic attack.

"Cas, what's going on?" Sean asked as Castiel whizzed by him, his heavy footsteps echoing throughout the cottage.

"She's found us, Sean. She'll be here any moment, no use running. She-she locked onto your soul. Wherever you go, she'll find you, find me." Castiel said in blur, finally stopping in his tracks.

He looked wild, his hair was standing up on end and his crystalline eyes were wide in terror. His button up shirt was ruffled, his pants wrinkled. He looked like a mess.

"Naomi?" Sean asked, finally understanding the enormity of the situation.

"Yes, Balthazar warned me. She'll be here any-"

A soft gust of wind brushed through the cottage, the sound of wings absent. She was there.

Sean heard her soft, light footsteps echo over the floor, her gait evenly paced and easy. She was coming up from behind him, Sean knew because Castiel was staring in anger and passed him.

"All this time and you two still find each other. Life after life, death coming and going. You two don't seem to want to let go. I find that unsettling, to say the least. Wherever this soul, this Sean Flannigan or Doron Cohen or Denley Quinn pops up, Castiel goes against his nature. He says he does what is right and just, what his Father would want of him. You, Sean, are Castiel's undoing." Naomi says, her voice harsh and accusing.

Sean doesn't fear her, he simply hates her. He doesn't know what in the world she could possibly be talking about, but he knows she blames him for the good being Castiel is. She has a vendetta she needs to fill and Sean is her scapegoat.

"He has nothing to do with this, I don't even understand what you're speaking of. All I do know is that I went against your set of rules long before I met Sean." Castiel argued, his voice thick with restrained anger. He was still in his spot, unmoving.

"But it was in his lifetime, wasn't it? You two can't stay away from each other. Ever since Egypt…" Naomi trialed off

"Egypt? I've never been to Egypt." Castiel said, his voice rising with waves of confusion.

"There are things you don't know or understand, things you don't believe have happened to you, but they have. And because of your innocence, I will grant you a kindness." Naomi says, stepping past Sean, finally, and up to Castiel.

She cups his cool cheek in her hand and smiles sadly down at him, almost in a tender, motherly way.

"What are you doing?" Sean asked, panicked. He takes a few steps forward, asking Castiel what's going on.

"What _is_ going on?" he asks Naomi, his brow rising with the question.

"I'm letting you rest, for now. You won't have to see him die." Naomi says softly in his ear.

Castiel's eyes widen, so wide it's as if the lids of his eyes have disappeared. He tries to move, get away from Naomi, but his body has already gone slack. Castiel collapses in Naomi's arms, his knees hitting the ground with a _smack_. His head rolls back, looking up at the cottage's ceiling. Naomi gently set him down on the floor, careful with her movements.

"What did you do to him?" Sean shouted, running to Castiel's aid. Naomi stopped him, laying her palm to rest square on his forehead.

"You will rest now. I can't keep you away forever, but the next time we meet let us hope it will be the last." was the last thing Sean heard before falling into the abyss.


	33. The Dark Days

There was a moment in Hell when Dean remembered everything: Sean, Doron, Denley. He remembered the Irish mist and sea, and the Israeli sun and sand. He remembered the kingdom in which he spent a life as an arrogant prince, who later turned into a magnificent king. He was murdered by an enraged, beautiful woman each time. He remembered the anger she wore so vividly and the look of satisfaction she got as Dean fell further into the abyss.

She was so relieved to see him die.

Sometimes she spared Castiel the pain of seeing Dean whither, so she brainwashed him before hand. Other times she relished in the look on his face when he saw Dean pass, sheer terror, rage and a burning pain igniting inside him.

She was disgusting, this Naomi. A special place in Hell surely had to be reserved for her.

Dean was convinced these were dreams, just delusions that kept him awake through Hell and torture. That was until he saw Castiel, a comforting light cleansing. He recognized the warmth, the soul in him. He knew it was the man he loved, time and life again, the man he kept forgetting.

He knew when Castiel laid his hand upon Dean's arm, dragging him through the many leagues of Hell and bringing him to the surface. Once his hand touched Earth again, though, he forgot. He forgot the words he wanted to say, three simple words, a beautiful phrase. He forgot the swelling in his chest and the smile on his face. All he remembered was the dark days in Hell and a flash of light that ascended with him.


	34. A Different Kind Of Season

**A/N:**_ I did my best to tell this story, staying true to the original folktale. It may not be completely correct, but I did the best I could with rewording and such. _

Rain. It was heavy, no light affair. Gone were the days of summer drizzles and spring mist. Here was fall, orange and red, thick droplets of rain coming down in the short season. Alaskan autumns were virtually nonexistent; they were only around for a few weeks at best.

Locals were used to it, the six months of warmth leaving their minds as quickly as heat left their homes when they left their front doors open. Prepared they were for the half a year of snow, rain and slosh. Hopefully the record for snowfall wouldn't break again, that year was bad enough.

Tourists, newbies, weren't used to the flux in temperature. It hit them like a cement block, caught them completely off guard just as the long summer days did. Nearly twenty four hours of complete sunlight made it hard to sleep most nights.

Some had taken to taping thick sheets of plastic over their windows year round, depending on the condition of the windows. In the summer it was meant to keep out light, winter it was meant to keep out the frost.

Roads were still good, so no one had to be worried about accidents just yet. Those could wait for a little bit.

Instead, roads were decorated in crunchy, red shaded leaves. Healthy oranges, dying reds, dead browns, littered the sidewalks and lawns, the roads and parking lots. They swirled along with the fall winds. It was kind of beautiful, a bit mesmerizing.

They, the three broken hearted boys, were in Alaska. Why?, you may ask. Why would they leave familiar territory, pass through Canada and enter Alaska? What's so special? A case, you may be saying to yourself. It's always a case.

But you'd be wrong.

It was the Sleeping Lady, which isn't some mystical creature with a beautiful, elfin face. It's not a curse, sounding similar to Sleeping Beauty. Nor would it be a strange name for an artifact or trial. Simply, the Sleeping Lady is a mountain, in actuality. Its true name is Mount Susitna; it's only referred to as the Sleeping Lady because from a distance the mountain looks as if it were a sleeping woman, just as the nickname states.

A native folktale says that there were once, so many years ago, two native lovers, Susitna and Nekatla. They were to be married, but due to enemies invading from the North, villagers gathered in council and their marriage was postponed. Many ideas sprung up, but Nekatla's stood out. He wanted to meet these 'enemies' and make peace, for their people gave up war long ago.

Council members agreed, so they prepared to leave. Before departing, though, Susitna and Nekatla stood on a hill above their village where they many hours together. Nekatla promised his soon-to-be bride they'd be married on that very spot when he returned.

So, she waited, and waited, and did a bit more. She picked berries to pass the time, but she did not fall asleep for she wanted to be conscious when her loved returned.

She couldn't keep up much longer, so she rested with the hope he'd have returned when she woke.

Word reached that there had been a great battle, many men dying, but the villagers didn't want to wake Susitna from her slumber, they wanted to do their best to delay her pain. They wished her many dreams of her fallen lover.

As the air grew colder, Susitna fell deeper into sleep. Around her, the fruit froze and died, just as the men in battle. The tears of her fellow villagers returned to the air and became the first snowfall. It fell slow at first, but it soon filled the sky and spread all over, as far as one could see.

It fell for seven days and nights, till Susitna and the rest of the villagers were covered in a blanket of white. Days became weeks, which in turn became years, going onto thousands of years.

Today, Susitna sleeps, dreaming of Nekatla.

They say that when people change their ways of war, Nekatla will return and Susitna will wake again.

Castiel had read up on many tales of old native lore and found this story to be his favorite. Death and loss were many spoils of war, something he learned too harshly. There are other ways to take the story, but Cas saw it as a call to stay be Dean's side, be forever loyal and loving. He had planned on it anyways, but this story made it seem all the more important.

After some time, Cas decided he wanted to see this famous mountain for himself, although he didn't say anything about it. He just read the tale over and over again, soaking up the words till he had them memorized in his newly human mind.

Dean realized this and soon logged onto the computer and did a little bit of math to count the miles and hours it would take to reach Alaska. He put away some money to get through Canada and told Cas of his plan soon after it had become finalized.

So here they were, staring at the snow capped mountain, Cas in awe, Sam in appreciation. Dean wasn't looking at the Lady, though, he was all too busy looking at Cas and feeling the heat swell up in his chest and rise into his cheeks as the chilly air and rain bit them.


	35. The Hurt We Choose To Hold Back

Castiel was angered with Dean when the two were in seventh grade, so he went off to camp the whole summer. It had rotational terms and Castiel talked his parents into paying for every one of them. He was quite a smooth talker, even for a thirteen year old.

It was all because Dean was unexpectedly kissed on the cheek by a girl named Lisa a few days after he told Dean he liked him more than a friend. He had thought Dean did it intentionally and hadn't had the matter cleared up till Castiel came home two weeks before school started up again.

Dean had spent that summer sulking in his room, blasting his father's tapes and occasionally strumming on his old and beat acoustic guitar.

When Castiel got back, Dean told him how much of an idiot he was being straight and clear. That didn't go over with Castiel very well. He had said, "How am I supposed to listen to your explanation when you're simultaneously insulting me?" He had a big vocabulary, which drove Dean nuts.

Dean calmed down enough to tell him he liked him back, which had both boys grinning likes fools. They didn't make their friendship into anything more, though, not even in secret, till high school. They both thought middle school relationships were wastes of time. Besides, middle school was absolutely not the time to jump out of the closet full force.

When they were juniors, Dean had a big championship baseball game coming up. He was excited and oh so pumped for it. As was Cas, but Dean kept on saying and saying how it was no big deal, just another stupid game.

Cas took his word for it, so when he mom asked him if he wanted to go out to eat with her that night Cas told her yes, thinking Dean wouldn't mind so much. He was the one saying it was no big deal, after all.

His team ended up losing the game.

During their senior year Dean kept talking about how lame prom was going to be and how he wanted to just skip it, although he was secretly excited. Because of this, Castiel decided to stay home that day. Dean spent the whole night waiting by the hotel's front doors, hoping Cas would show. He was disappointed. Dean never told Cas about that, not even the fact that he went to prom in the first place.

He kept the memory to himself, choosing to not vocalize the hurt he'd felt for so many years afterward.

When Dean talked about leaving their small town, with the secret intention of bringing Cas along, and wanting to aspire to bigger and better things, Cas picked out a college at random and applied there, gaining his letter of acceptance a few weeks later.

He left Dean without an explanation, hardly a goodbye. Dean, being the emotionally stunted ape he is, didn't say anything. He didn't explain, didn't beg Cas to go away with him. He simply let him go, believing that if Cas loved him he'd come back, eventually.

Cas was simply escaping his own hurt, as he always was.

Dean left Lawrence by himself around the same time, without telling anyone where he was going first. But he always phoned home and let his mother know where he was, in hope that Cas would call and ask about Dean.

He did, that first summer, towards the end. Cas got Dean's motel number, which was in a state Dean decided to settle into. Without much money, he had to get a motel room until he was able to get a job and start school to become a mechanic.

The two didn't talk about their awkward goodbye or the obvious words left unsaid, by both boys. They simply started anew, talking about the town they were in and the jobs they were after. Cas had gotten a job in a café on campus. Dean was looking into a job at a bar owned by a family friend, Ellen. She was still considering.

A long while later, Cas hung up just as Dean was about to spill his guts to him.

The little act tore open an old wound.

They fell into semi regular conversation after that, calling every day and beginning to feel as comfortable with each other as they used to be. They hadn't visited each other throughout the rest of the summer or school year, though. They were both too afraid. Heartbreak, the opening of old scars, so many things that had been unintentional and misunderstood. They were afraid for themselves.

After awhile, in their sophomore year of college, Dean brought up wanting to join the military. Maybe change schools and enter into a medical one, later on enter the military as an army doctor. He'd like that, saving people and helping them in their weakest moments. Being able to make a difference in someone's life seemed like something he could be good at.

Cas took this a bit hard, he wasn't one for violence and war. He wanted to help people as well, just not in a so bloody a scene. Dean's words seemed like a personal jab at the type of person Cas was, so without thinking he said he'd want to join the Peace Corps.

Their conversation got a bit tense after that.

They had a sort of falling out soon, their conversations growing shorter and farther in between. They last thing Dean heard of Cas was in their senior year, Cas had actually gone through and decided to join the Peace Corps. He'd be leaving shortly after he graduated, the graduation Dean was supposed to attend.

He didn't. He ended up graduating with his mechanics degree and joined the military as your average, run of the mill front liner, right after.

Dean saw and heard lots of things he wished he shouldn't have, but he saved people too. He took a first aid class somewhere in his college years and was able to put it all to good use at one time or another till a real doctor showed up and patched up the down comrade.

Those men were the doctor he could have been.

Shortly after his time was served, he heard of Sam's upcoming wedding to his long time girlfriend Jess, a funny and cute blonde who was way too good for Sam. He deserved her anyways.

Dean didn't like the loneliness he had in the town he was living, he knew no one and hadn't had a relationship since Castiel. He tried, he did, but Cas would always be it for him. So he told Sam he'd be arriving a few weeks before the wedding, moving back home into the town of Lawrence, Kansas.

He had arranged it with his parents; he'd be staying with them till all the paperwork was written up for the house he had looked into. It was a nice two story with plenty of space, a big front lawn and backyard for any pets, possibly kids, he might have in the future.

Sam was the one who met him at the airport, greeting him with a large hug and puppy like grin. It'd been so many years since they last saw each, both changing so much. Sam was so tall now, practically a tree. He'd have to be careful of ceilings.

Dean was relatively the same, except for the many scars along his skin and the traces of PTSD settling in the corners of his mind. He was getting help. Booze, mostly, but he had taken to writing down his thoughts when he was on the verge of a panic attack. It seemed to be working so far.

It might not have been the little journal entries, though. It could be that when Dean was feeling his lowest, when he was so far down he felt the only thing that could bring him back up was the barrel of a gun, he spoke to Cas. He talked so openly and freely you'd never know if this were the same man. Dean let his fears loose, sending them to Cas on the wavelengths of sound and air, knowing they'd reach Cas one day, even if he didn't even know what he was receiving.

The following weeks were spent bonding with his brother, helping him with the occasional wedding plan, baking with his mother, sharing war stories with his father and pulling apart cars with his uncle Bobby.

The war stories were more for his father's entertainment than Dean's. If he could get away with it Dean would never talk about the things he saw again.

Days leading up to the wedding were bliss, doing wonders for the scaring in his head. But he was still missing so many pieces, still cracked and wounded. Not broken, per se, just not quite right. Some pieces would always remain in the bunker, scattered over dry Earth, carried on the humid wind. Other parts would remain in the chest of a certain blue eyed, stubborn headed, misunderstanding man who always looked opposite of the way he was supposed to look.

So many years since Dean so much as heard that man's voice, yet he still loved him.

Finally, Sam and Jess' wedding came crashing into them all. Sam was overtaken with surprise by how fast it came.

The ceremony was held in the Winchester backyard, the reception would be later staying the yard and moving into the kitchen and the living room of the house.

When Jess was walking down the aisle, looking as bright and beautiful as a setting sun, Dean's head was surveying the crowd, hoping with everything he had that Cas was somehow invited, that maybe Sam had remembered him and reached him.

And he had.

Cas was sitting on the other side of the yard, as far as he could possibly be from Dean. His head was trained forward stiffly, as if he were trying to keep himself from looking around the yard. He looked the same, just older. His hair was just as dark, eyes just as blue and warm. Dean barely caught a glimpse of them, but just the minute glance told him everything he needed to know.

Dean kept himself from staring at Cas too long, instead turned his attention back to his brother and in-a-fraction-of-a-moment sister, listening to their vows.

The way their voices sounded betrayed the way they felt about one another, so loving and blissful. They'd have their ups and downs, but there was no doubt that they'd be together till the day they died.

When their simple _I do_'s were spoken and the two shared their first kiss as husband and wife, Dean got up from his seat and began to clap, feeling increasingly impatient as he watched the crowd, watching Cas clap as well. His eyes were darting around, as well.

Sam announced they'd cut the cake in an hour or two, so now was the time to take advantage of the buffet. Dean ignored, he was set on reaching Cas, who could be leaving at any moment, for all Dean knew.

Dean cut past people, nearly knocking into a few as he crossed the clean cut yard, seeing Cas as he stood by his seat, waiting for the crowds to clear.

"Cas!" Dean shouted to get the other man's attention. When Cas looked his way, time seemed to stop for Dean. His heart was pounding in his chest, threatening to beat out like in those old cartoons. He felt a smile spread along his face, so wide he felt as if his face would crack.

"Hello, Dean." Cas said a bit breathlessly, as if he were nervous of the encounter, or maybe it was as if he didn't want to be seeing Dean. He'd rather jump to another conclusion and leave, like he always did. Yet he came running back, time after time, just as Dean did.

"Hey, nice running into you here." Dean said, unable to shake that smile from his face.

"I suppose it is." Cas said stiffly, as if he were trying to hold himself together. He was shifting from one foot to the other, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. He was just as scared as Dean was.

"Don't go running this time, okay? Stay long enough for me to get it all out this time, will ya?" Dean asked cautiously.

"I don't run away." Cas said tersely. He was getting mad now, just like every other time. If he didn't do something now, Cas would leave again. Maybe this time he wouldn't find his way back.

"Yes, you do. Always have. That summer after seventh grade you ran when Lisa kissed me. You thought the wrong things, just like with my baseball game and prom. Prom was the worst, I waited all night for you. You never knew that one. And high school, after we graduated, I wanted you to come with me, but your mind raced ahead. You must have thought I was trying to leave you behind so you did the same, just like with the Peace Corps, you ran full speed ahead into that one when I said I wanted to be an army doctor. Now that I think about, you must have thought I was insulting you. I wasn't, by the way. I just wanted to put my piece-of-shit self to good use." Dean explained.

"You said prom was lame and that your stupid game was no big deal." Cas pointed out, trying to reassure himself that he wasn't in the wrong, that what happened fell on the shoulders of fate.

"I was lying! I wanted you to be there, for both! I wanted your support for the game and I just wanted to take you to prom, like all those other guys did with their dates. I wanted to show you…something. Just something." Dean explained, halfheartedly at the end. He was beginning to fray at the edges.

"I never gave you a chance to explain anything, did I?" Cas said in a low voice, looking Dean dead in the eyes.

"No, but I was too stupid to not explain. I thought that maybe if I just let you go you'd find your way back, like you always have. But I can't live the rest of my life on that blind faith, I need to tell you here and now all the things I never had the chance to say before. I only ever told the fucking air, hoping it'd be good enough just to say it out loud. Maybe you know, somehow." Dean muttered. He started rubbing the back of his neck, a nervous habit.

"What's that?"

"That I love you. A bit overdue, huh?" Dean asked with an awkward laugh.

"All that matters is that you said it." Cas replied, smiling a small smile, his aquatic eyes pricking tears at the corners.

"You'll stop running now, right? We can start over somewhere, if you want. I mean, I moved back here. I live just a few blocks-"

"I'll stop running, just like you'll be quicker to explain yourself, okay?" Cas asked, which Dean replied to with a swift nod. "I, uh. I moved back a little while ago as well. About a year ago, now. I'm living in my parent's old place, they've both been dead awhile."

"Oh, if I had known-"

"I know, but things are all right now. I'm alright, you're alright. Maybe not all the way, we've both seen things we shouldn't have. Peace Corps isn't all it's worked up to be, but war does things. I saw it in your eyes the moment I got here."

"Then we'll help each other heal the hurt we've held back." Dean said simply, reaching for Castiel's hand, just to be sure they were both here to stay, together. No more running or hiding, it'd just be them, all their faults, and all the things that have brought them back to each other over the years.


	36. Tearinng Of The Wall

It's sad, in a way.

No one can see, they don't look deep enough. They see the happy exterior, the smiling and loving man who can't possibly be frayed at the edges, coming undone at the seams. This man must have it all together.

In truth Dean can't really remember a time after Purgatory where he walked passed somebody and didn't have his guard up. He was ready to defend in a millisecond, always on edge. Expecting a surprise attack became second nature.

Always, always, there was that soft whisper in his head, telling him that this was all a dream. He'd wake up on the mulch ground of Purgatory, listening to the howls of creatures and Benny's snoring. If he woke up there, he knew he wouldn't have found Cas. He'd still be traveling farther from Dean, trying to keep him safe.

Dean could be in a sea of people, light, and sound and still have that frightening whisper lulling him into a day dream. He couldn't escape, no matter how hard he worked against the current. That whisper would always win.

He's always zoning out, it seemed, falling into memories he wished he could forget. That's all he wanted, was to forget, and perhaps be forgotten. He didn't need the world to know his name or story, sometime he just wanted to drift away on that sea of light and sound.

This feeling, it's something Dean returns to when he's lost. When he feels so low that the only that can possibly bring him back up is the click of a trigger.

No, that's not right.

The only thing that could keep his from wanting that sweet, terrifying sound of a trigger is Cas.

When he's lost and seemingly so alone, Dean talks to Cas. Mostly when he's gone because face to face confessions are much more personal, that much harder. So when Cas leaves, rarely enough, Dean prays to him, sending his thoughts and worries on wavelengths of air and sound.

Cas listens and never says a word when he gets home, knowing it'd just make Dean uncomfortable. He would have said something if he believed it wasn't working for Dean, but it was. He looked significantly improved when Cas returned home each time. All his woes and worries were being lifted.

And he just kept getting better.

The nightmares made less of a return, his little daydream spells vanished. His smiles and laughs even grew genuine outside the comforts of the bunker. That barrier Purgatory had built up, a cage for anything good in Dean's life, was slowly coming to a crumble.


	37. Specters & Shadows

The drive had been long and stressful. All the Winchester boys could think about was the memories and time they lost. All the things that could have been, but were sadly not meant to be. Life would have been so very different had Mary Winchester not walked into Sam's room all those years ago.

The same could also be said that everything would be different had she not made a deal with Azazel, or if John hadn't died in the first place. So many could be's, would be's, should've been's. There was no point in dwelling over lost time.

That's didn't change much though, Sam still thought about the life he could have had. A loving family with an ass of a brother, Stanford, Jess. A life outside of this. Dean dwelled on the few memories he had of Mary. Getting the crust cut from his sandwiches, hearing Mary sing _Hey Jude_ when he was upset, or hearing her tell him angels were watching over him. She never knew how right she was.

Castiel was sitting shotgun with Dean, holding onto his hand for a small form of support as the other man drive. Sam wouldn't have been much help; he was just as mopey as Dean was. Castiel, on the other hand, didn't know Mary. He didn't have to picture a life with her in it, or so Dean thought.

On this drive along the twisting back roads, run down motels and roadside diners Castiel daydreamed. He thought up a life where he was human, simply and utterly mortal. No fear of his family, no secrets or guilt, just the easy life of a regular man. Maybe if he had been human he'd be some sort of musician, music was one of Castiel's greater loves of humanity.

In this little dream Dean would bring him home to meet his parents. Castiel would be nervous of meeting John, hearing many contradicting things about him, but meeting Mary would be the highlight of his day. A mother so loving and nurturing that all she wanted for her children was for them to be happy. It didn't matter what they did for a living, who they loved, just as long as they loved the lives they were leading.

She'd welcome Castiel into her home, hug him gently but warmly, as only a mother, or someone just as dear as one, could.

Sadly, none of this would ever happen.

No trips home, no tender smiles or caring hugs. There would be no Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner, no grandchildren for Mary and John to meet. They'd never meet their children's own, loved, bouncy bundles of energy. They were just ghosts, after all. Their faces were gone, their names simple memories. The touch they left behind has surely faded.

They were the specters hiding in the corners of the Winchester mind, rarely showing themselves.

Gone they were, and there was nothing to be done about it. Not even God could bring them back.

Even if he could, why in the world would he?


	38. The Malleable Heart

What would the world be like without angels?

Well, to start off it'd be chaos. There would be no one to hear the prayers of the weak and the young, of those whose desires are self revolved. No longer would there be a listening ear to hear all our woes and all that we hope for. We'd be so utterly alone. God may not even care.

Demons would be running wild, tearing us apart just from messing with our heads. Deals would be made just as quickly as lightening struck, death just as quick ten years later. There would be no one to save us from ourselves.

We'd be shut off from kind hearts, although only so many angels have them. Most think of us as disgusting, writhing insects so pathetic even God didn't want to stick around to see our end. But the others, they admire us. Our ability to love and hate, to empathize and sympathize. We show a variety of emotions and ways to deal with them. Compared to us, they're all robots.

The cold hearts don't listen, they pamper themselves and say they are just in their movements, but the kind hearts watch and listen. They help us and they wish us no harm. They want us to see the end of days, find our paradise.

Without them we'd be destructive.

We'd burn our neighbors, steal their spouses and ruin their homes. Monsters, that's all we'd be. We would be worse than demons, bringing our own ends.

At least they have order and rules. Without the love and listening ear of the kind hearts, we'd be unruly and about ready to implode inside ourselves. We'd be rotting from the inside out, our souls so tainted and dirty.

Now, we're all just burning to a crisp. No one to save us now.

The angels are falling like tinted rain, their wings burning off mid flight. The fear across their faces is unmatched, to sorrowful and dying inside. They want to die, they just want it all to end. Why can't it end?

The sky was crying tonight as Castiel watched, the first of many to fall that night. It was all his fault, you know. He believed Metatron, listened to his every word and did what he was asked to do. He believed he'd be saving the world he was born from.

All the angels are walking the Earth tonight, so maybe there are people to save us. They may not be grand displays of God and Heaven's work, but they'll be good enough.

They'll be the helping hand when you can't pick yourself up, the good friend to talk you through your woes. Saving people, hunting things, not just the family business anymore. They'll all lend in a hand. Change their ways, realize we're not as bad as all the cold hearts thought we were.

Saving each other from the fall we've all taken.

Together we will die, as equals. Together we will rise into Heaven, as equals. Grace will be a thing of the past. The pain it left behind will always linger, carving holes into the angels' souls, but the wounds will heal with passing time.

Some may fall into drugs and sex, like Castiel from the future once did. Others may heal by assistance from others, of from doing their part to help others. All of our wounds heal in different ways and rates.

All they need is a little love.

Castiel doesn't want to fall into the pit the future brought him into. He can't let that happen, it just won't be. He'll keep his heart open and soft, malleable. Instead of closeting the things he feels he'll be a little more forthcoming. He won't hide behind walls made of flesh and nerve endings.

And all it took for him to come to this little resolve were a few little, beautiful words from Dean Winchester.

"You're still an angel to me."


	39. Cutting The Strings

No more chances left. It was just tonight; tonight is all he has left.

The fair is alive with music and lights and noise. The noises of people, rides, machines whirring. This little state fair was pulsing with light and life, breathing and beating like lungs and a heartbeat. It was a system, a body to be careful with and taken care of.

It was the family business, after all. It was meant to be cherished and loved. Old Mr. Campbell started it when he was twenty years old. He ran it with his wife and daughter and numerous other employees. Soon, Mrs. Campbell died, their daughter met a boy, married him and had two sons together, and Mr. Campbell was still going strong in his old age. The family business was still thriving with him.

Mary, the Campbell daughter, was raised in this little fair, along with her little boys, Dean and Sam. Their blood pumped with the live wire of the fair. All of its electricity and light, the smells of food thick in their noses with every breathing minute.

They didn't know a life outside the fair, just like their mother. It was all they saw all day every day. But their father, John, knew of life outside it. He told stories sometimes, when Dean was feeling his worse about traveling so often and so far. It was more common for Sam to be upset about the life than Dean, though.

Whenever they passed through little ol' Lawrence, Kansas, Dean got a taste of a life he could have. He's been passing through it since he was born, eighteen times he's been to this town. Once a year, for a week each time. Always through the hot, middle of July.

For six years it was just him and his baby brother, playing in their trailer with their mother while daddy worked. On that seventh year, though, Dean met Castiel, a dorky little boy with messy dark hair and computer program blue eyes. He was tall and a bit lanky, like Dean himself.

They became fast friends and looked forward to seeing each other every year, for those blissful seven days. After a few years, Mary even let Dean take that week in Kansas off each year. It was a small blessing, but one nonetheless.

Castiel was openly gay; you wouldn't know it when you saw him, though. But that the thing about sexuality, isn't it? You never really know when you look at someone who the type of person they'll love. You don't know anything.

Dean was an out and about bisexual, something he came to realize after years around Castiel. He was feeling things friends just don't feel for each other.

Cas was the same.

They had this ease going, so close together but never too intimate. Never kissing, just barely holding hands. Every year for a week this happened, just holding hands and being with each other. The rest of the year they pretended to be single but ignored advances. They were loyal.

This year was different though, it was both of their last.

Dean wanted to do something other than the carnival with his life. Leave the family business and do something he wanted to do, not what his family wanted. His mother wanted different things for him, but his father was traditional. He was raised in and out of the carnival life. Mother got him half the year, while his father got him the other half. That half came with the fair, the best times.

Maybe he'd travel. He had a car, his father's old 67' Impala. It was Dean's most prized possession.

Cas was going off to college. Baltimore, that's where he was going. Found a good school and apartment there, he wanted to be a doctor. He wanted to bring Dean with him, drag him there, but that wouldn't be fair. He had to let Dean go, do things without him, even though that's how he had been spending the majority of his life anyways. Without Cas.

Even though he got the week off, Dean always had to start the day off with fair work before Cas arrived. Those were the terms and conditions with his mom. So here he was, at the spinning apples. They were just like Disney's spinning teacups, but they were apples.

It was broad daylight out, about noon or so. Cas always came around twelve thirty, so it was hard for Dean to concentrate on his work when he knew Cas was so close.

He saw him, walking right past the entrance booths, where the entrance tickets were being checked. Hands were being stamped, the employees looking bored and disgruntled. They always looked like that. It's been a long day.

Cas' hand had just been stamped, the dark blue ink still wet as he walked past other sales booths and up to the spinning apples.

It wasn't too far from the entrance, it was meant to catch the eyes of children as they first entered. They always ran straight for it.

"Dean!" Cas shouted, waving his arms in the air to catch the other boy's attention when he spotted him. He had an enormous grin on his face, his velvet eyes so wide open it was almost as if he had to staple them to make them as wide as they were.

Cas had been out of state since just after school let out, so he missed the first six days of the fair. It's been over a year since the two saw each other last and tonight was all they had left. To cut the strings or to leave them all as is, that's the question in both their minds.

Dean jogs to meet Cas in the middle and grabs both of his hands, trying his best to tone down the smile that's grown on his face. He's trying to hold back from hugging him, from forcing their mouths together in a sloppy crash. He suppresses the latter and goes straight ahead for the former.

He hugs Cas tight, pressing the other boy into his chest as he clutches him, running his fingers through his hair. It's been too damn long. A year has always been too long. A day is too short.

They pull away from each other, both still grinning from ear to ear.

"I've missed you, Dean." Cas says after a few beats of silence. He hasn't seemed to change a bit. Still looks like the tall, filled out, dark haired, blue eyed seventeen year old Dean saw a year ago. Dean still had his hands, his thumb smoothing over the skin between Cas' thumb and forefinger.

"I missed you too, Cas. A year without seeing each other and all we get is a day. That doesn't seem fair." Dean was never one for small talk, cut right to the chase or don't bother talking about it at all.

"Uh, yeah. Just a day, though?" Cas asked, his eyebrows raising with his question. He pulled Dean away from the apples ride and they began walking aimlessly along the dirt of the fairgrounds.

"Yeah, we're packing p tomorrow. You know that, I emailed you the dates and everything. We're headed out of state this week and you're going to Baltimore soon. Better make the most of tonight, right?" Dean asked, casting a sidelong glance at Cas.

"I suppose that'd be best if we did have just a night. We could have more though, couldn't we?" Cas wanted to ask, but he bit his tongue. This wasn't the best time for any of this kind of talk, he wanted to enjoy the rest of the day with Dean. Bring it up later, he had resolved to do.

"So, when you leaving for Baltimore?" Dean asked out of the blue, staring at the beaten dirt ground. His grip on Cas' hand seemed to tighten, as if making sure his life line wouldn't drift away.

"Three days." Cas replied steadily, although this was a subject he wanted to drift away from.

"We'll be long out of here by then. Or at least they will." Dean murmured, almost quiet enough so Cas couldn't have heard him. But he did.

"What do you mean?" Cas asked as they turned right, past a food trailer advertising hot dogs and cold drinks. There was a long stretching line; all clumped together like a bad artery.

"I'm eighteen now, if I wanted to leave no one can stop me. Got the car, been saving some cash. I can do and go wherever I want. Sammy has mom, made sure to talk to him before I even began considering it. He wants me to go, the little shit. 'This life isn't good for either of us', he had told me. Maybe he's right." Dean wondered aloud as they walked.

"You're your own person, do what makes you happy, not anyone else. If you want to start a ghost hunting business, go for it. If you want to open a small town diner that has a special of pie every damn day, you do that." Cas encouraged, although it made him ache a bit to say it. He wanted to say so much more, to tell Dean he'd follow wherever he went. He'd give up becoming a doctor, a damn good one he'd make, all for Dean.

"Thanks Cas, that gives me an idea. Following whatever makes me happy." Dean said with a small smile.

They went on a few rides, ate, and played some games for the next few hours. They talked an awful lot, about pretty much anything. School, family, friends, not that either had all that many. Both made sure to stay away from the subject of leaving, of the end of the night, though.

As the sky turned orange and pink, after the sun set and the stars began showing themselves, the life of the fair seemed to grow. The sounds got louder, the lights brighter. This body system became functioning properly, as well as it should be. The positive energy in the air seemed to triple. Everyone seemed to feed off it, consuming it and putting it to excellent use.

It was about nine thirty when Dean suggested they jump onto the Ferris wheel. Sammy was manning the ticket line tonight and the line was short to begin with. Benny, a friend the family picked up a couple of years back, was working the ride. He'd met Cas on multiple occasions. They got along well enough, Benny's southern manners made sure of that.

The Ferris wheel, like in all fairs, had the best view of the fair below it. It all seemed like a tiny, plastic, toy city. Godzilla could jump in at any minute and destroy it and Dean wouldn't be surprised. In fact, he'd almost be expecting it.

As they began to rise, Cas opened his mouth and let himself be blunt.

"This can't be our last night. I won't let it." He said forcefully, as if his words could rewrite everything and undo both of their malleable plans.

"You won't, will you?" Dean asked with half a laugh.

"I'm not going to let the strings of fate cut themselves tonight. Not in a year, not in ten. Not till we're both dead, at least. In Heaven those strings will be secured, made of titanium. Can't we last that long?" Cas asked longingly, begging for a chance to let those fragile strings strengthen and build themselves up.

"What would we do? You're going off to college, becoming a doctor. I'm going to do only God knows what, but it won't be following you." Dean said, his voice catching as he let those words slip.

"What? Why not? Did you get bored of me?" Cas hissed, the corners of his eyes stinging.

Those were words he never believed would leave his lips, words that stung and burnt his tongue.

"What? God no, no, no, no. I'll just get in the way, distract you. I'll just fuck it all up." Dean muttered, ashamed of himself.

The sounds below were drowning Dean, begging him to shut up and stop acting like a child. They wanted him to listen for once, believe he wasn't so bad. He helped build those lights and sounds after all, they seemed fine enough.

"You're a complete idiot, Winchester. You know you're the one who supported me the whole way? You're what made me want to be a doctor, you can't destroy what you yourself have built up so easily.

The sound and light from below were winning out, whispering sweet nonsense into the depths of his head. _You're not as bad as you think you are_, they seemed to whisper.

"Then what do we do?" Dean asked, choking on his own whispered words as he looked up at the starry night above him. The moon was out, white and full. It seemed to be embracing him.

"I want you to come to Baltimore with me, okay? You don't have to bu-"

"Yes, a million times ove-If that's what you want, I mean." Dean caught himself, but the grin that began to spread didn't quite catch on and continued to grow anyways.

"If that's what you want." Cas echoed.

"You said follow what you love, right? Here goes, then." Dean said with a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as he spoke.

"You're packing up tonight right, moving on by morning? I'll be in Baltimore in three days, I've already got an apartment. Meet me there, okay? That's about a day's drive, you'd get there first so you'd need-"

"Slow down there, Road Runner. Don't want to choke on your own words, right?" Dean cut Cas off with a laugh, his green eyes brimming with adoration. "You're right, it's about a day's drive from here to Baltimore. I'll be there first. I can meet you at the apartment, okay? Armed with my little duffel bag of stuff and a full tank of gas. I'll even pick you up from the airport, if that's what you want." Dean suggested.

"Yeah, that's perfect. I'll get you the keys before the night's over, I've got them in my car. I'll have to call the landlord, tell him you'll be coming. It's funny though, isn't it? A total what, sixty one days of knowing one another? We're already planning our lives together, on whim."

"No, about sixty one days of seeing each other. I've known you since I was seven years old, I know you probably as well as you know yourself. We talk, we email, we've just haven't really seen each other. This changes that, though. Soon, we'll be walking up and the first thing we'll see each morning is each other. That's a big step, but it's the right one." Dean corrected.

"I'm terrified." Cas admitted with a sheepish smile.

"Same, but the good kind."

When they were done on the Ferris wheel, both boys went out to Cas' car, where Cas dug out the apartment's keys. He wrote down the address on a slip of paper and tucked it into Dean's coat pocket.

Before getting into his car and driving home to finish packing, Cas kissed Dean firmly on the mouth and said, "See you in three days."

"I'll see you in three days. Never thought I'd be saying those words so soon after seeing you leave." Dean replied as Cas got into the driver's seat.

Dean waved goodbye as Cas pulled out of the lot, speeding farther away from the fair, the life they were leaving behind and closer to Baltimore and the life they were starting.


	40. Filling The Void

They were gone and he missed them.

The wings, fallen apart, their invisible feathers scattered in the atmosphere. They left little light trails behind them as they floated away, like comet tails. Maybe that's what they became when they detached from their angels, little comets. Part of stars and space, as close as they could get to Heaven.

Castiel mourned them, these little fallen parts of him. He missed the weight he felt on his back, now all he had was weightlessness. No more feathers tickling his shoulders and back, just the air catching on his clothing.

He wept often, missing the energy that echoed throughout his whole being. A container for life and energy, for love, was what he used to be. Now he was simply an empty jar with a sealed lid, holding back stale air as it went to waste inside. There was nothing to cleanse the air within, to fill the gaping hole in his being.

He'd cry without even realizing it. Tears would puddle on the pillow by his eyes, staining both the pillow and case, as he slept. Sometimes in the shower he'd taste salty liquid, so much unlike the water dousing him, and he'd know he'd been crying. Those were strange occurrences.

Castiel had taken to drawing them, his wings. Sketch books were overflowing with intricate drawings and simple doodles. They were all as close a match to the real thing as he could get.

Some of those drawings were attached to little drawn backs, like tattoos rather than an angel seeing another's wings. They started on the back and roamed upwards, onto the upper arms of the little drawn men. The folded wing designed was just silly. Why not capture wings as they should be, spread out and ready to fly away?

That's what Castiel wanted to do sometimes, fly away and never look back. Then he remembered Dean and realized he couldn't do that again, leave without a single word. Too many times has that been done before, he won't let it happen again.

While Castiel was taking a shower one morning, Dean picked up the sketchbook Castiel carelessly left open on their bed and flipped through the pages. He looked at every last drawing, his summer green eyes widening with awe as a new drawing came up.

He could almost feel Castiel's loss then, the feeling of having everything you are and should be just ripped away without a thought. Having it taken from you, ripped from your back and throat without a choice. Castiel had lost nearly everything; he was missing it as fiercely as Dean had ever missed him.

Dean gently set the sketchbook where he found it, on the same page, and left the room. He had a bit of research to do.

About a week later Cas was doodling when Dean came up from behind and tied a bandana over his eyes.

"Dean! What in the name of Creation are you doing to me?" Castiel exclaimed as he jumped in his seat. The annoyance was apparent in his voice.

"Taking you for a surprise. Now grab your sketchbook and let's get a move on." Dean demanded, helping Castiel up by taking both of his hands and leading him away from his now unoccupied seat.

Castiel grumbled under his breath as he tread over the ground carefully, especially careful walking up the stairs and out the hatch. Dean guided him the whole way, held onto his arm to make sure Castiel wouldn't fall.

Dean helped him into the Impala, laughing as Castiel nearly hit his head getting in. Castiel didn't think it was very funny.

They drove for a short bit of time, half an hour at most. Castiel couldn't be completely sure, he didn't know what time he left and his perception of time was muddled.

Once again, Dean helped him out of the car and through a shop door. Castiel only knew it was some sort of shop because of the jingling sound he had heard when going through the door.

Dean removed the bandana, but didn't say anything. He let Castiel look around for a moment before speaking.

A tattoo parlor, that's where they were. All sorts of designs littered the walls, in a wonderfully organized way. The furniture was mostly matching except for the odd piece or so. Castiel could hear the needles whirring, loud and buzzing in his head, rattling him.

"What are we doing here?" he asked Dean, turning around to get his reaction.

"You need your anti possession sigil. And also because of your drawings. I saw them once, you were in the shower and the sketchbook was just laying there. Call me an asshole, but I looked. I saw the tattoo wings, I figured you'd want them for real." Dean explained with a shrug of his shoulders.

Castiel's tense stature was relaxed as Dean spoke, a smile of bliss and appreciation creeping on and taking his lips hold.

"Thank you." He said as a petite, dark haired girl approached and asked if she could do anything for them.

Dean explained to her about both tattoos and she listened, interrupting only once to ask Castiel if he knew what he wanted with his wings. Where and what design, specifically.

He showed her his drawings and found his favorite, the ones that were the closest to his real wings as possible. She quickly looked and complimented him on his skills, handed him his sketchbook back and led him to a studio.

Both tattoos took a few hours in total, but every lengthened minute was worth it in the end. The look on Castiel's face when he looked in the circle of mirrors at his back and upper arms, it conveyed everything he was feelings. The loss and beginnings of healing, the appreciation and the wonder. All the happiness he was feeling was evident in his watered down eyes. It was a gift in itself, the emotion Dean could spot in Castiel's face.

It was all Dean could ever ask for.


	41. Letters

_Dear Dean,_

"No, too formal."

_Dean,_

"No, too informal. It's not personal." Cas muttered to himself, the tip of his pen bleeding black ink onto a crisp white page as he thought.

A letter, the first of many, was what he was starting. Letters, poems, stories with hidden subtext. They would all be for Dean, expressing, even in the most hidden ways, how Cas felt about him.

"Maybe an inside joke would do, something we both understand." Cas thought aloud, scratching his chin as he stared down at his paper.

It came to him then, like a bold neon sign flashing before his eyes.

_Hello Dean,_ it started, the same way Cas always started off with whenever he had lost Dean and found him again, whenever he blinked out of space and returned to Dean. These two words, a constant repetition on the lives of the two men. They were a relief when heard, a 'thank you' to God whenever Dean heard Cas speak these simple words. They meant Cas was back, he was here for now.

Cas began to write, flooding the page with all his thoughts and emotions, venting to Dean. He wasn't about to give him the letter, just let loose his feelings and store the letter for later. Put it into a cardboard box and push that box under his bed, where no one looked.

He wrote more letters after that, each beginning with the same _Hello Dean,_ and never being delivered. Cas didn't just write letters though, he wrote poems and little stories like mentioned before. They were about the conflict, turmoil, guilt, happiness and relief all waging war inside him. The love, too. The love he had felt for Dean, something so beyond platonic it must have been obvious, and the love he had for Sam, who was just like a brother to the fallen angel, a person who understood Cas' good intentions didn't always come out right.

The written words became like a journal for him, a journal for Dean. An ode to him, if you will. It was all a serenade to the beauty that was Dean Winchester. Castiel's words praised Dean's eyes, lips, his skin and his soul. The light that burned behind the flesh, strong enough to keep from turning to ash.

To be clear, Castiel didn't spend every aching moment holed up in his room, writing diligently till night rose. No, he wrote in his free time and when it passed, he hid the word filled notebooks under his bed till the next fleeting moment of peace.

They peaked out from under the bed, the corners of the bound notebooks sticking out after the box got too dinged up for use. It was only a matter of time that Dean would find them. And he did.

Castiel was outside, enjoying the cool summer day and the songs of birds, when Dean went throughout the bunker, looking for him.

Eventually, he found himself in Castiel's room, which was in such neat order. It was just as clean as Dean's, who freaked out when even a scrap of paper was left lying on the floor. The only off thing about the room was the notebook corner barely peeking from under the bed.

Dean deliberated for a moment, torn between leaving the room, pretending he saw nothing and grabbing the notebook and eating up every last word. He chose the latter.

He sat on Castiel's bed as he read, his eyes going wider with ever new page he flicked through. He almost stopped breathing a couple of times when he came across a particularly moving word or phrase. Not all pages were filled, but enough had been that Dean understood everything Castiel's words and movements said that his voice could not.

When he finished reading, Dean sat on the bed and stared at the last words of the last filled page. He tore out a page after a few seconds, grabbed a pen off Castiel's bed side table and began writing.

When he was done, Dean tucked the page right behind the cover of the notebook and put it back where he found it. It didn't even look as if it had been touched; the room was left in the condition it was found.

Castiel didn't drag the notebook out for about a week after that, and with every passing day Dean grew more anxious. His chest was thumping, his pulse vibrating like the _Magic Fingers_ bed in some of those sleazy motels.

Finally on a Thursday (what were the odds?) Castiel pulled his notebook out and relaxed at his desk, flicked on the desk lamp, grabbed his favorite pen, and opened the front cover where a page lay. It was ripped at the seam, where it would have been in a book, and familiar handwriting was scrawled all along it.

It read:

_Hey Cas,_

_ I lied. You're not like my brother, you are so are from that it almost feels like I'm dead to write it. I actually never thought I'd write it, or say it. I never wanted you to know, hell I didn't want to know myself. I thought it'd hurt too much, hurt me and hurt you._

_ Cas, you're nothing like Sammy to me. If you were, it'd feel so wrong to feel the way I do. It'd be like wanting to screw Sam. Bad mental image for me, I wonder how it must be for you. _

_ Sorry, I'm not so good at the explaining feelings kind of thing. Looking back, it probably seems like I'm telling you you're nothing more than another ally or hunting buddy. That's outright bullshit. You mean so much more._

_ You are more to me than what Lisa or Cassie were. I really loved them man, or at least believed I did. They were more than one night stands or games, they were constant. I'm telling you you're more than them, what does that say? Well, I'll tell you. _

_ It says that if you loved me as much I love you, which I'm guessing you do by all those letters, poems, and stories, I'd never give up. I'd try through and through to keep us together, I'd fix every crack you have, every broken piece that begins to fall. I wouldn't give up on us._

_ Man, this is so strange but it's a strangeness I'm willing to go through for you. If you give me a chance, I'll try to give you a world. One where bad things may come and get us but a world where I'll never let you go, never give you up. A world where we fix each other._

_ I hope to God you love me to._

_ -Dean_

Castiel stared at the letter for a moment after finishing it, his breathing at pace, but his pulse going a million a minute.

He got up as calmly as he could, leaving the letter on his desk, and went to find Dean.


	42. Tangibility Of The Intangible

**A/N:** _Sorry I haven't updated in awhile, I've taken some time off the one shots to work on my WIP Destiel fic, A Selected Silence. It's coming along smoothly and I'm about halfway through, so I decided I'd update! Thank you and continue on._

It was damn near absurd how much Castiel loved Dean.

But it was also precious, and unique and oh so flawed the way Cas loved Dean. He loves him like the oceans loves the rain, waiting to be raised with just a drop. The ocean craves the rain, just as Cas craves Dean.

Cas craves Dean's touch, his soft spoken words, the light in his eyes. He craves the range of smiles Dean gives throughout the day, the little chuckles he lets out when he's in a comfortable mood.

This love was nearly tangible, so thick and heavy in the air it choked all who were near it. It was stuffy and all around, like the scents of a thousand flower fields sitting side by side.

But this, this whole and tangible, everywhere kind of love wasn't always there. It was hiding in the shadows, hidden behind closed smiles and darkened eyes. Little _I need you's_ and _I'm sorry's_ were where this love went to live and prosper.

When they were separated on the harshest terms, it always felt as if Castiel lost someone who wasn't even his. A person who stood by his side for years, who made his smile and really _live_, but was never really his. All Dean was a member of the infinitely expanding race of human beings who just happened to be a co conspirator in the destruction of evil. Well, it felt that way at times.

Other times it felt like Dean was even closer to him than Castiel's own holy brothers in heaven, which he felt more often than not.

It all ended, though. The closeted emotions and disguised words. This little reign of hiding died, came to a close the day the world tried to end once more.

Dean was dying as the world went into its natural state of being, blood pooling underneath his back and staining his shirt dark red. His eyes were rolling back into his head as Sam clutched him close, the life slowly fading from him.

Cas, running towards him with everything he had, had in that moment forgot he could fly. So, as he neared, he shouted at the top of his lungs, "I'm in love with you, Dean Winchester!" cupping his hands around his mouth as tears pricked the corner of his eyes.

Finally, his knees touched the solid Earth, spikes of pain shooting up his legs that he ignored, as he cupped his hands around Dean's cheek, praying and hoping that he wasn't too late to save him. Light radiated from his hands, the little beams caressing Dean's skin as the man stirred beneath him.

"What took ya so long? Forgot how to fly?" Dean asked with a choked laugh and a blurry eyed smile. His eyes had instantly gained their hue of life as he looked Cas in the eye, saying those nine words.

Color slowly started to fill in, barely noticeable. His strength was still at a low, him needing time to recover before he was back at top shape. He was fine within the week, thanks to Cas and lots of rest.

Well, after that they couldn't really stop doing sexy things for awhile. It all made Sam feel a little bit awkward. Just the thought that his brother and very close, possibly best, friend was having sex all the time made him a bit queasy.

That's how they got here; with the abundance of Castiel's love filling the air like heavy Axe body spray.

And Dean?

He's just as ridiculously in love with Cas as Cas is with him.


	43. A First Encounter

There he was, the man made of light.

He was so beautiful, this warmth pouring out of him with every movement. His soul sang to Emmanuel, singing words of hopes and long endured trials. Lyrics that could make a grown, hardened man cry within an instant.

They weren't lyrics you could necessarily understand with the naked ear, nor ones you completely understood either. It was the music behind them that became your undoing. It reached into your own body, beyond your organs and soul and into your very essence, the traits that made you, you and played the strings of your life like a cello.

So entranced, was Emmanuel. He stared hard and long, looking at the brightness of this man before him. Looking hard, he saw little cracks and scars, little veiny things. They were beautiful, also. Telling stories of heartbreak and closeted feeling for the fear this man would be broken down into the shell of a man he was once. They told stories of long fought wars, of watching the people you cared for fall around you like flies dropping dead, like the falling of angels.

These stray marking didn't lessen the beauty of the soul, in fact of you _removed_ them it'd lessen the beauty. Our scars, inward and outward, make us who we are. They may not always be good lessons learned, nor will they always leave fixable wounds, but we always learn some way and eventually we heal. Sometimes it just takes one person or a group of them, maybe even just our own selves, to build us back up and continue the fight.

The soul reached out to him, as if remembering Emmanuel's own. It tried to tangle with it, yearning for the touch it had been deprived of. It almost seemed as if this man had missed him in some length, as if they knew each other. Which was absurd, these two never met before. Never even seen each other's faces.

No, that was wrong. He's seen this righteous man somewhere, he remembers something…

Emmanuel has seen other souls like this, but nothing like this. Nothing even close. Everyone else was too dull in comparison.

Their light didn't consume them, didn't jump from every pore of their vessels. No, they sat in the pits of their stomachs, in their diaphragms, by the heart. Sometimes, they even sat in the core of the brain. These lights were always sort of dull, though. Recognizable, very much so, but nothing that would make an impact. Like this man's, they all had cracks and wear to them but they didn't shine quite so bright or so fulfilling. Nothing but little sacks of life, they were.

It was sad to see humanity this way, so empty. But Emmanuel never realized before, not until now. Not until he laid a familiar eye upon this jeweled eyed man built from love and hardships. Love that seemed to stare right into Emmanuel's own soul, love that was covered up and disguised, as if he thought it was shameful.

"It's not anything to be fearful of, it's just love. And love in every form is accepted, especially one so beautiful and far reaching as yours." Emmanuel wanted to say, but he didn't. He stayed silent as he stared into those summery eyes.

All this happened in a matter of seconds, these thought zipping fluently through Emmanuel's head as he gazed into the soul of Dean Winchester. He was a man broken and battered, yearning to be loved anyways.

That first step was to accept the love he came to feel and then love himself, afterwards.


	44. Changing Of Ways

Dean sat on the couch, worrying about the next few days to come. He'd leave tonight to go on a hunt, his first in months.

And Cas would stay here.

Sam was going along, Cas could hold down the fort by himself. It's not as if he were some helpless being, he'd proved that wrong on more than one occasion. He could kick major ass if need be, knew enough spells and exorcisms to keep every life in this bunker safe. Everyone would be just fine.

"Maybe I shouldn't go." Dean abruptly said, looking in the direction of the staircase. He bit his lip, worrying it between the top and bottom sets of his teeth. He let go and licked them afterwards, a bit of a habit of his, something he did when he was unsure of something.

"I'll be fine, Dean. Go on your hunt, having brother bonding time. It'll clear your head. You'll be back in few days, maybe not even that. Besides, it'll give me an excuse to delete your mass amounts of that hospital soap opera on the DVR." Cas said with a teasing lilt, sitting cross legged on the recliner in his ratty sweater.

"What? I don't think so, dude. Leave my Dr. Sexy alone or I'll piss in all your flower pots, maybe even that vegetable garden." Dean threatened, looking over to Sam with a quick jerk of his head, asking his younger brother to back him up.

"Hey, leave me out of this. It's between you two, I've got nothing to do with it." Sam said immediately after seeing Dean's head jerk, raising his hands in the air in defense.

"C'mon, you can't back me up this one time?" Dean groaned, glaring at Sam.

"No, now if you'll excuse me I'm going to my room. You two can fight like the Romans and the cowboys from _Night at the Museum_ all you want, but I'm not going to be a part of it." Sam said with an edge, leaving his seat and going up the set of stairs. Dean wanted to protest, but he decided against it.

How did Sam know about that movie, though? It's not like they settled down enough over the past few years to watch old kids movies.

"So, you sure you'll be fine by yourself?" Dean asked when Sam was out of ear shot, leaning forward in his seat to look Cas in the eye.

"Dean, I'm perfectly capable of taking care of both myself and Henry. It'll just be a few days, anyway. Don't worry too much, it'll screw your head up." Cas warned with a little, reassuring smile. He unfolded his legs and sat correctly in the recliner for a moment.

"Okay, okay. I get it, but it's not you I'm worried about. I've just never been away from him so long, haven't been on a hunt since sometime last year." Dean admitted as he ran a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at Cas.

"That's it, isn't it? You don't want to leave him, do you?"

"Of course not, I've never been away from him longer than a few hours. This will be a few days."

"You're wrapped up in his little fingers, aren't you?" Cas asked with a grin as he stood from his seat, straightening his sweater.

"I think we all are." Dean replied as the wailings of a small child started, the sound seeming to have started upstairs. They echoed lightly throughout the bunker, like a little alarm.

Both Cas and Dean went to the stairs, jogging slowly upwards knowing there was no worry for alarm. Henry was always bit of a fussy child, traits he quickly picked up from Dean.

"Hey, bud! You're all right, papa's got ya." Dean reassured in a hushed voice as he lifted the one year old out of his wooden crib. He had to pry Henry's hands off the bars first, but that didn't take too long. His grip wasn't too tight yet.

He held the dark haired boy to his chest, murmuring softly to him and rubbing his little head. Bouncing lightly on his feet to calm Henry down seemed to work, his cries got softer and farther apart, dying down within a few minutes.

Cas watched form the doorway, arms crossed against his chest, smiling without realizing he was doing so. He watched the two in silence.

It took some difficulties to get Henry.

The two fathers had to scrape up enough money to pay a surrogate, a blonde haired and green eyed one, after having to decide which of the two would be Henry's biological father. Doing that took a few rounds of rock, paper, scissors and coin flipping. In the end, Dean was happy with the result. Henry looked so much like Cas that you couldn't see any of the surrogate in him, except his vividly green eyes, eyes that were just like Deans.

The surrogate, Alana, didn't have any real attachments to Henry after his birth. She was happy with the work she put forth, cared a bit for the boy that spent nine months in her body, but she had no troubles with giving him away. That would have caused a whole other mess of problems, ones they thankfully didn't have to deal with.

Henry was born healthy and happy, ready to go home after two days. Of course, there was some forging on most of the medical records. The only legitimate piece that came home with them was Henry's birth certificate, reading the name _Henry James Winchester_. Castiel wanted to honor Jimmy somehow, seeing that he took over his body and got the poor man into a whole other mess of troubles.

Dean wanted to honor his grandfather, an apology for acting like such an asshole when they first met. Maybe he should have realized that things weren't as they seemed to John, nothing in their lives was ever what it truly seemed.

That night, Dean put Henry to sleep himself and slipped out of the bunker with Sam, quiet as can be, after singing to him. _Hey Jude_, he sung it every night. It comforted him when he was a baby himself, hearing his mother's smooth and warm voice as she sang till he fell asleep. It had the same affect on Henry. After that, he would whisper in his son's tiny ear, "Your daddy's watching over you."


	45. From Tissue To Bark

He was broken and bruised inside, his entire being lined with little cracks and fissures. Scars that refused to heal. There were long lines running the course of his soul, letting a little bit of darkness seep in.

The darkness made him angry at times; at others gave him an irrational sense of fear and pain. It messed with his mind, gave him flashbacks of sitting in a sterile white office as a madman cut into his throat. It made him see the little bit of light squirm form his throat.

Calm and collected was what he seemed to be, on the outside. Everyone knew he was in pain, they saw it in his eyes and they way his hands shook and clenched, the way they went to his throat every now and then, as it to keep something from spilling out.

On the inside, though, he was a mess. Thoughts swirling around each other, bleeding together and melding. They fought with each other, fighting for as much attention as he could give. The thoughts and dark feelings didn't want to relent, not ever. They just kept up in their fight, soldiers with boundless energy.

This was the way that falling took its toll on Castiel.

Another man, not as broken in the same sense as Castiel but in so much pain.

He craved attention from others, but never sought it out. He longed to be touched, even in the simplest form, like laying a hand upon his shoulder. He wanted to be told everything was fine, it was okay. Because it was, for now things were okay. The angels may have fallen and Metatron may still be up behind those golden gates, but everything was peaceful on Earth.

This man just needed the assurance that it was.

His pain was a long endured one, something he's lived with nearly all his life. It was a cold one, it left its mark with everyone he met and everyone who walked out the door.

He's learned to deal with it, though. It's not as fresh and brand new as Castiel's pain. It still hurts the same way, just as all pain hurts us in the same way, but he's figured out how to live with it. He learned to navigate the way this specific pain hurt him, learned to jump between happy places should one or another burn down. And they all burn down.

But with every one to burn, another is created out a spark of light called Castiel.

This was the way abandonment took its toll on Dean Winchester.

One morning he sat on one of the bunker's many wooden, red cushioned chairs as if nailed there, his arms spread out across it, hands firmly set upon the top, and his feet planted firmly on the ground. It was his crucifix, his brother and Castiel his audience and it was their happiness and lives he was willing to die for.

The thought of waking up one morning and finding Castiel gone again kept running through his head, playing with him and whispering dark thoughts in his ear. They told him the next time he left, Castiel wouldn't come back. And it would be because he had died, his human frailty becoming his undoing.

"Dean, you okay?" Sam asked, looking up from his laptop in the other room. He pulled the screen down, waiting for Dean's response.

"Who are you, my nanny? I'm fine dude, just go back to your geeking out over there and leave me be." Dean stated a bit too defensively. He turned his body away from Sam, as if Sam would just disappear if he did so.

Sam rolled his eyes, but got up and took his computer upstairs, muttering under his breath. When his footsteps were no longer audible, Castiel got up from the seat he was sitting in across from Dean's. He walked up to him and stared at him disapprovingly, slowly getting down onto both of his knees, keeping eye contact. He leaned back and sat on his hind legs.

"No, you're not." He simply said, his voice soft and comforting, like an easeful music.

"Cas, get off the floor. That's a compromising position you've got yourself in." Dean stammered, surprised by Castiel's bluntness. He didn't care that Castiel was sitting on the floor at all, just the way he was leveled in Dean's eyesight with that stare of his.

Responding to the demand, Castiel got off the floor and stood on his feet again, firmly planted there. He was like marble, standing so stiff and rigidly in his place. His cracks and fissures were smoothed out, every blemish hidden.

"I'm fine, Cas. Go count the bees or something." Dean muttered, running a hand through his hair, avoiding Castiel's eyes. Dean's scars and wrinkles in his soul were quite visible, like balled up and wrinkled paper. Just like that balled up paper, he was soft, malleable and easily torn.

Leaning down, Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean as best as he could, trying to hold him in the most comforting way he could manage, Dean stiffening from his touch, as he whispered, "I will never leave you." He didn't want to damage the tissue paper Dean was becoming, instead help him become the strong and lively tree he once was.

Dean dissolved right then, melting into Castiel's arms and he gripped at the other man's shoulders. He wanted so badly to protest, to fight Castiel and try to force a lie into the former angel's mind, but he didn't. He just gave up, choking back sobs as he clung to Castiel.

"I may go here and then, leave the bunker for fresh air and to create a safe place of my own, but I swear to my father I will always come back to you. Heaven or Hell on Earth, nothing can keep me from you. My home."


	46. Icarus

"Be careful my son, do not fly too high, for the sun may burn and melt your wings. Neither fly too low, for the sea may wet them." A father said to his son, a tall and dark haired man with eyes the color of the sky they'd be flying in.

"Am I to follow the path you set for me, then?" the son asked in reply, looking away from the horizon he was longing for.

"Of course, it is the safe one. It will bring you no harm." The father replied, smiling at his son with a certain reverence.

The son, Castiel, simply nodded. He wasn't sure if his father was right, parents almost always were wrong. The sun was so far away, so bright and beautiful. Surely it couldn't bring him harm? The sea was so refreshing, so light and inviting. Wasn't it safe, too?

The two jumped from the cliff's face then, climbing higher and higher, Castiel careful to stay behind his father. They shouted back and forth, Castiel's father giving careful instruction.

They flew for a little bit, Castiel moving farther ahead with every stroke. He was soon side by side with his father, staring up at the sun with wide and eager eyes. A delighted smile graced his features as a face took shape in the sun's light.

Angel kissed freckles dotted the faces, splashed over a canvas of tanned skin. Eyes, like the greenest of grasses on a beautiful summer day, stared in Castiel's own, blue as if they were the child of the sea that welcomed him and the sky he soared in.

The face, like a mirage, flickered in and out. It dissolved one moment and returned in the next like a rippled reflection in the water.

It was expressionless, as if he lived a long and hard life of woes and fear. His lips were hard and smooth, slightly downturned. Those bright, jeweled eyes were downcast, a faint marker of love hinting at the corners. Other than that, they were devoid of much else but shame and pain.

So lost was Castiel in those eyes, he began to swerve off his father's course and reach higher and higher into the sky. Always a bit disobedient was he, taking his life into his own hands.

The sun kissed the son's skin, little spots of heat hitting his arms and face. It warmed the feathers of his wings, as if it were dark fabric laid out in the sun all day long. His head grew hot, his shadowy hair absorbing as much as the sun's heat as was possible, taking it like a gift from the green eyed man.

"Éros," Castiel said softly, smiling at the green eyes boring into his.

Higher he rose, so much higher, wanting so badly to touch the face of light.

"Castiel! Be careful up there, many have tried to reach him and all have failed." Castiel's father called, God was his name. Creator of things; light and dark, animals, people, and the most complex emotions one could be burdened with.

"But I will receive him from his Perdition. Even if it takes me forty years, I will raise him." Castiel shouted back with a broad grin, outstretching his arm towards the mass of light and fire ahead.

"For that, you must fall." God whispered to himself, looking up at his son with sadness evident in his eyes.

Fire erupted on Castiel's back, eating away at his feathers and burning through their bone. It was accompanied by a symphony of screams, so loud and crushing it'd make the dead turn in their graves from sympathy.

He began to fall then, falling hundreds of miles in the barest amount of time. The wind whistled in Castiel's ears, burned red on his skin.

God went on in the sky, continuing a plan greater than Castiel ever was. And he watched him, up until his back touched down with the cold ocean's surface, watery arms holding onto his torso and dragging him farther down.

It was dark, the cold sensation that left a buzz on his skin gone. The water combing through his hair dissolved, just like everything had. There was no light, no sound or sensation. Just darkness.

Then, as if the world around him just began, Castiel saw a glowing red spread out and coat the dark around him, lighting the shadowy figures around him. Hideous faces they all had, with hands that outstretched and grabbed at him, tugging on his stola and hands climbing his legs, tugging at his hair. A few shadowy limbs reached for Castiel's blade.

He drew back, fighting them all off by way of smite or blade. Castiel burrowed further into this hellish world as he did so, going so deep it seemed as if years had passed him by, which they had.

Climbing for years he did, kicking demons off his person and throwing them off his trail. All for the man lit by the sun, a window to this dark world.

And he reached him, forty years later. This man didn't look the same as he did in the sun; he now looked warped and malicious with a crazed glint in his eyes as he laid a knife to the tortured souls on the rack.

He cut their skin, watching as black blood oozed and the skin healed. All to be cut into again tomorrow.

The man was shrouded by darkness, only the barest hints of light lying upon him.

Castiel moved closer, his angelic light moving with him. It hit the man on parts of his face; it made him look different. His face was softer, kinder but fearful. His mouth downturned, eyes sullen. He looked just like he did in the sun, sad but human.

_Dean Winchester_.

The name came suddenly into Castiel's mind, like a great realization. He was righteous and good, a man who went insane because of the darkness flooding his soul.

Or the darkness he believed to be flooding his soul.

It was intact, bright and fulfilling. It sang a song of love and homecoming, asking to be freed from this underworld. This beautiful soul reached out to anyone who would listen, anyone human enough to care. It wanted to be freed.

So Castiel did as was asked of him. He gripped Dean Winchester tight and raised him from Perdition.


	47. Recycled Man

God said to them all, "Love humanity far more than you have ever loved me."

The angels, they tried. They looked upon the lesser beings and tried to find qualities in which they could fall in love with, but they failed. They saw humanity's violence and greed, its ability to start wars over petty things such as land and women.

_Women aren't objects you can war over, they have minds of their own, a consciousness. Men's efforts over them are wasted _some angels thought, frowning at the way men handled themselves. Like dogs they were, growling and rippling their skin over territory, reputation, and partners.

Still, the celestial wavelengths watched over humanity, waiting for a spark of longing or fondness to ripple through them. They watched as territories were conquered, as men ravaged women with disregard of consequence. They watched as others failed to give suitable consequence.

Angels watched over women and saw how they used their beauty and charm to cloud a man's judgment and seduce him, taking his wealth and still having the audacity to bed other men.

Was there such a thing as loyalty over these fragile creatures? Was love a foreign concept to them, as well?

These dark times were cleared and women gained bits of equality and men were more severely punished for their crimes, although the consequences weren't always as they should have been.

Watching over the Earth, angels saw as humanity tinkered and created, made life flourish and made it easier to live through. They saw the invention of the automobile, which was a brilliant piece of machinery.

The hardened hearts of angels began to warm a bit, appreciating the work humans put forth. But still, they refused to love.

All except one angel. He heard his father's words and dove deep into humanity, looking for anything and everything he could find that would make humanity appealing in his eyes. He didn't find it for some time, until he came across a young, freckle dusted, summer eyed man living in Egypt.

This man was brave and strong, loving with a ferocity that was only matched by his own lack of self worth. This was a man who believed he didn't deserved to be saved, thought he was better left for dead that roaming this beautiful Earth.

The only thing that kept him going was his love for his brother and the need to protect and care for him.

He died two and a half decades after his birth, which both saddened and delighted the angels. He'd get to meet the man that turned the tables on him. But it was not to be, because the man didn't reach heaven but was recycled back onto the Earth a few hundred years later, living in England.

Still the same man with the same soul and face, same character flaws. Still the man who believed he wasn't worth the space he took up. He took care to protect others, though. Beating anyone who touched a woman in the wrong way, throwing large bullies off their prey. Even going as far to exorcise a demon or two when he came across them.

Again, he died three decades after his birth. And again he didn't turn up in heaven, instead showing up in Ireland in the 1940.

His family died when he was young, leaving him to live in a cottage by himself. His will to live was dwindling, his cause for it gone. All he had left were occasional hunts, that being enough to not let him die by his own hand.

But he did die, on a vampire raid on his thirty third birthday. He died alone, no wife or children to mourn him. He was just the mysterious man who lived in a cottage by the sea.

This last time he turned up, the angel wasn't expecting it. He hadn't been keeping watch for this man, the man who lived a tragedy over and over again.

He was in hell, having sold his soul to bring his brother back to him. That was all he wanted, his brother to be alive and healthy, not a dusty corpse six feet under. But God wanted him saved, so the angel was the first to stand up and say unto his father, "I'll take the task."

After forty years of traveling through hell, the angel Castiel gripped the man tight and proclaimed for all his brethren to hear, "Dean Winchester has been saved!"

God told his children to love humanity more than they did him, and there was one angel who did so.


	48. On The Beach Front

What was the point anymore?

For Dean, the sun had lost its hue, the sea its distinctive and roaring beauty. The roaring of his car's engine lost the tranquility it once possessed. Even his mother's wedding band lost its luster.

Sam was getting married, he was happy and healthy. He didn't need Dean anymore. No one did.

That's why he was standing here, during the sunset of his twenty eighth birthday, on the shore. The blue hued water licked at his boots as waves came rolling in, calling him out to sea. The colors of the sun painted the sea as it dipped into it, pinks and oranges splayed over the uneven surface.

He just wanted to enjoy one last visit to the beach. But he couldn't, it may have been beautiful but he had no one to share the beauty with, no one to tell old stories about his visits to the beach when he was a child. When Mary was still alive.

Dean wanted to step forward into the water, he wanted to submerge himself underneath the chaotic waves and never come up. He was just about to take that first when he felt a firm hand on his shoulder.

"You don't want to do that." A rough voice said. Dean turned and saw a tall, dark haired man standing next to him, a trench coat hung loosely on his shoulders. His eyes were the same blue as the sea Dean was yearning for.

"Do what?" Dean asked, as if he had no idea what could be rolling through this stranger's mind.

"Die. Not yet, at least. Maybe after you've lived for fifty more years and have married, had a few kids, watched as they grew right before your eyes and brought you grandchildren. Maybe you don't care about that stuff. Not until you've had the best burger the U.S has to offer, you seem like the kind of guy who enjoys a good burger." The man explained.

"What if I get that burger tomorrow?"

"No, things don't work like that. You can't just talk about something and it happens out of pure coincidence the next day. No, I'll think it'll be handed to you on your deathbed. You'll be ninety two and weak, just because your long life has caught up to you. You'll bite into that burger and your last words will be, "Damn, trenched coated freak was right." The man said with a laugh, looking over to Dean, waiting for him to say something.

"You sound like a guy talking from experience." Dean observed, taking a step away from the water's edge.

"I am. I was here, not too long ago. Last month, actually. I come back every now and then; it calms my nerves. I grew up down the road a ways, this beach is home."

"What stopped you from ending it?" Dean asked, a sliver of hope taking refuge in his voice.

"I wanted to fall in love first, have a family. I decided after many years with them, I can die. But not by my hand, anyone else's but mine." The man answered. He turned a bit, his head looking up at house closest to the beach. It wasn't far from where they were, a five minute walk or so.

"You live up there?" Dean asked.

"Yes, my parents left me the house after they passed."

"Yeah? Mine too. I live about fifteen minutes the other way." Dean explained shortly.

"Seems as if we should have met before, having lived so close." The man pointed out, smiling to himself.

"I'd remember a guy like you."

"Why's that?"

"Just something about you, plus you're not doing too bad in the looking in the looks department." Dean admitted, a genuine smile growing. He hasn't had one of those in awhile.

"Thank you, I appreciate the compliment. Why don't we get out of here though, come back to my house? I know you said you're not too far from here, but I'd rather I know you were safe." The man asked, walking up the sandy beach.

"Do you really think it'll get better? It's just me; I've got no one else. Sam, he's getting married. I don't wanna bother him with my emotional bullshit. Bobby, I don't know if I'll be able to look him in the eye."

"No, it's not just you. You've got me. Let me tell you this, it's not easy. Things don't just magically get better after telling yourself over and over that they will, it takes time. Lots of it, but sometimes the key is just finding someone whose demons are compatible with yours. I think I've found you. Have you found me?"

"Anyone who can talk me out of a decision, which has only been you, ought to be someone worth keeping around, getting to know." Dean answered, following the man up the beach.

Once reaching the house, the man made him coffee. Dean learned his named was Castiel Novak. His sister died last month and she was all he had. Castiel tried to end it, but he saw a couple up on the road, a man with longer brown hair and golden haired woman, having just gotten engaged at that minute. He decided he wanted to fall in love, have something like those two had before losing his life.

Castiel was right; recovery took time, so much time. But every day was a new improvement, a new goal being created and achieved. Castiel was with him every step of the way and every step afterwards.

They both died at ninety two, in the same bed sharing the same burger. It was the best damn burger either of them had ever tasted.

Castiel had said his last words, a simple, "I'll see you soon."

Dean's were ones that were old and long awaited, "Damn, trench coated freak was right." Both passed with smiles on their faces, hands clasped tight.


	49. Glass Eyes

Dean looked through the little window of Castiel's room, seeing him propped up, ram rod straight, on the edge of his bed. His glassy, clear eyes were set on the television. It was obvious that he was paying no attention. He probably didn't even know what was going on around him, lost inside his own head.

Falling hit him hard; it only took a few days afterwards for Castiel to notice something was wrong with him. Dean was told Castiel checked himself into the facility, deteriorating rapidly into himself as the days passed.

One of the nurses requested a TV be put in his room, she said the silence was almost too much for her. Castiel never spoke, didn't move except to lie down on the bed and sleep and eat when meals were given to him. Bathroom breaks too, but nurses had to come in the room themselves and lead him to one of the restrooms. Other than that, Castiel did nothing. He was empty, so it seemed.

It took Dean a long while to finally find him, traveling from state to state and looking inside hospitals, dingy motels and even facilities like this one. Most of the trouble was because on Castiel's lack of a last name, all Dean had to work with was his name.

That proved to be easy, though. You didn't see many Castiel's walking around, did you?

So when Dean turned up here, in this decently sized town and looked in, looking for a Castiel and they gave him the name Castiel Winchester, Dean knew he had found him. He just wasn't expecting to find what he did,

Taking a deep breath and letting it out a moment later, Dean entered the room. He closed the door behind him, mostly out of habit. There was always a reason for Dean to close doors, mostly because of secrets and hushed conversations.

"Hey Cas," he said simply, walking in front of Castiel's statuesque figure and kneeling down in front of him.

"I shoved have said this sooner, should have done something. Maybe if I'd been honest, you wouldn't be like this. You'd be with me." Dean said roughly, trying to hold back tears that were threatening to spill.

"I'm so sorry; sorry for being such an asshole. You only did what you thought was right, even if you royally screwed us all over a few times. You didn't know how bad it would turn, just thought it'd help somehow. Like Samandriel said, too much heart was always your problem. Also your greatest asset, if you ask me." Dean admitted, his voice getting lower. He wiped at his eye, clearing his throat as he tried to search for more words.

"Someone told me when I was a kid that freckles are the kisses of angels and that a kiss from an angel means you're forgiven. One of you must have forgiven me an awful lot, huh?" Dean asked with a sad chuckle, breathing deeply as he tried not to cry.

"You forgave me, through and through, didn't you? No matter who I was through life, you never stopped forgiving me. Shit I did as a kid, starting out as an adult, doing whatever dad told me even if I knew it wasn't quite right, you still never gave up. Must have known me longer than you let on, right?"

It was getting harder for Dean to hold back the tears, so he stopped trying he let them flow, little rivulets down his cheeks and falling into the collar of his shirt. Waterfalls, they were, heavy and begging to be forgiven once more. That's all he wanted. It's not what he was here for today, though.

"I just want you to know, I forgive you." Dean said, standing up and pressing a kiss to the top of Castiel's head, taking his chilled hand on his own. It began to warm a little.

Dean pulled away, still holding onto Castiel's hand, and looked into his face. The glass was gone from his eyes, instead he saw the sky and the ocean and the stars, even the god damn moon. Dean looked at Castiel as if he was the one who hung it.

The most prominent feature in Castiel's eyes was that of promise; the promise that everything would be better. Eventually, soon, Dean hoped.

Dean left the room then, clinging to the faith that Castiel would get better and find his way back to him. That way, Dean could tell his angel all the things he couldn't say here, in this sad and lonely atmosphere.


	50. What Heaven Needs

** A/N:** _Holy crap, guys! 50 chapters already, wow. Halfway to 100 and that's a big deal to me. I wouldn't have been able to get here without all your kind words and continued support, I would've given up ages ago. All of you mean so much to me and I'm so grateful to have been able to earn you as readers and reviewers. So, thank you! This following fic was inspired by the song _Another Set Of Wings _by A Rocket To The Moon._

Dean stood in front of the fireplace, his eyes wandering over the pictures on the mantel. There were some of him and Sam alone, pictures of the two of them together, but the ones his eyes lingered on the longest were those of himself and Cas.

His eyes shift to the hallway, where his own room and Cas' old one lay. They moved into the same one awhile ago, before it happened. Dean hasn't been into their shared one in a long time, been staying in Cas'. It smells like him, _feels _like him.

"I wish it was me instead of you." Dean muttered, grabbing their wedding picture. They weren't even looking at the camera; their heads were bent together and eyes were locked, smiling softly at one another.

It almost hurt to look at it; they were both so happy and now… Dean can't really call this happiness.

Dean needs his angel but heaven needed another set of wings and it just had to choose Cas. Out of every other angel, ones it trusted and ones who actually had their wings, it had to pick Cas. He was fallen, mortal, happy. But no, it had to have Cas and that was that.

It gets harder every day, but Dean keeps on holding on.

Sometimes, he'll go outside the bunker on windy nights, hoping he might be able to feel Cas in the wind. He felt his presence before that way and sometimes he can trick himself into believing he did feel Cas, just a little wisp of him on his arm or face that brings back happy memories.

They say time heals all but parts of him are still broken; there are parts that are never going to mend. One of them being the way Cas was ripped from his side with barely a warning. Gabriel dropped down, explained the war in heaven and grabbed Castiel after melding his grace into his body.

That was sure as hell unexpected, most of all to Cas.

He's been gone a couple of years now, just about three. Dean hasn't seen him at all since he left, he feels like he's been left behind here, on Earth. There's Sam, but he's got his own family with Amelia, whom he went back to shortly before Dean and Cas' wedding.

At least Dean knows there's an angel up there, somewhere, looking out for him because he's not doing well at all, even though he tries. He's dancing through life alone for now, trying to hear Castiel's song in his footsteps like he did the first time they danced as man and man. Life was better then, easier. He only wished it were so now.

"I'm still missing you." Dean said to the air, taking steps back from the fireplace. He wanted to cry, scream, to hit something, but he didn't have it in him. There was no point to it; he'd just be left with a wet face, a sore throat, or another thing he'd have to fix once he calmed down.

"And I to you." A rough voice said from behind him, a slow moving smile drawn into his words.


	51. Changes

Dean said, "I love you." And nothing happened. The world around him wasn't clearer, brighter. No nuclear bombs went off, the sky's hue didn't change. He himself didn't feel changed. Not dirty or undeserving of those three precious words. Also, he didn't feel like the words changed him in any good way. His body heat didn't spike, his heart didn't go racing. All had remained the same.

This was because he had been fully aware for how he cared or Cas. There was no internal struggle of how he felt. Always he had known, he just never chose to say it.

He used to believe that it was mandatory to say, to always assure your loved one that you cared, but he had learned that sometimes the best and greatest loves are the ones who know, without a doubt, you love them without uttering a word. There's a look, the way words are phrased or said, that just lets you know for sure.

When Cas said, "I love you, too." That's when the world started to change.

It seemed brighter in the darkened room, light seeming to seep in from all corners. Dean's heart was going a mile a minute, beating fiercely against his rib cage, rattling him from the inside. If he had decided to get and look outside, Dean thought the sky would have taken on an all new kind of hue, one better than the one that came when the sun just began to rise.

Never was Dean sure if Cas loved him. He obviously did, but Dean didn't think he was worth loving. He never thought someone as beautiful and wonderful as Cas could want to love someone as broken and battered as he was.

Dean was beginning to see himself in a new light.


End file.
